


Or The Highway

by FalseCamaro (Gandalfgirl579)



Series: Or The Highway [1]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bluesey - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Drug Use, Dry Humping, Fast and Furious AU, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Grinding, Love Triangles, Masturbation, Multi, Murder, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Prokopinsky, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Street Racing, Violence, pynch - Freeform, rovinsky, the dream pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfgirl579/pseuds/FalseCamaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark, tight jeans, low-slung and artfully torn. Black muscle tank, his tattoo peeking over his shoulders and the sides of his neck, snaking down his arms. Heavy, thick-heeled motorcycle boots, well-scuffed. Leather bands around his left wrist, ineffective camouflage for the scars there.</p><p>Ronan Lynch looked for all the world like the thug he had once been.</p><p>A Fast and Furious AU in which the boys are all grown up. Ronan is an undercover cop, Adam is an informant, Kavinsky is a gang leader, and Gansey is trying and failing to protect his best friend. Endgame is pynch, with side helpings of rovinsky, prokopinsky, bluesey and past roah. Primarily focuses on the Gangsey boys and the dream pack. Warnings to be added as they appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Has to be Him

**95**. _Not bad_.

 

Ronan's hand hovered light above the gearshift, calloused fingertips barely brushing hard plastic and worn leather.

 

It had been ages since he'd gone this fast, and his heart was racing in his chest, matching speed with the BMW to the best of its ability. A year-and-a-half of abiding the speed limit had changed the way it felt to move so fast.

 

It was _electric_.

 

**100.** _Turn_ .

 

Gravel flew, clinking too-loud on the chains of the fence of the Henrietta dragstrip. Too wide. _Shit_. He was out of practice.

 

  1. _Shift up_.



 

The growl of the BMW's engine was by far the loudest sound in the near-dawn quiet, drowning out spring breeze and birdsong, the roar of a familiar Camaro, footsteps on asphalt, the approach of a uniformed officer of the law.

 

**120.**

 

"Ronan!"

 

The squeal of tires echoed, and Ronan skidded to a stop mere inches from where Gansey stood.

 

"Very nice." Unflappable, Gansey smiled. He was too bright, too warm in the blue-gray light. "You _do_ know we're meant to report in early this morning, yes?"

 

" _Yes_."

 

It came as an irate groan, and Gansey rolled his eyes, though his smile refused to fade. Crossing around the front of the car, he carefully slid inside, mindful to do up his seatbelt. He shot Ronan a sharp look, expecting him to do the same. Ronan did.

 

"You just gonna leave the Camaro here?" Ronan asked, jerking his chin toward where Gansey's glorious, fury-orange car was parked off in the lot.

 

"You can drop me off here at the end of the day."

 

A nod, another squeal, rubber on blacktop, and they sped off the empty racetrack and into the morning.

 

"What did you think you were doing?" Ronan's gaze darted over to Gansey, appraising as they sped along. "I coulda hit you, y'know."

 

"No." Gansey's smile was an easy thing. "You couldn't have."

 

"What makes you so sure?"

 

"I know _you_ ," was Gansey's defense. It was true. "And, for some reason, I trust you."

 

"Your mistake." It was half a joke, and Ronan gave a sharp smile as they hit the highway, the sun rising higher as they approached downtown, the sky going pink in time. When the soft growl of the BMW became monotonous, Ronan asked, "So what's on for today?"

 

For a moment, Gansey pressed his thumb to his lower lip. Then he said, sounding rather bored, "I think it's just a standard patrol today."

 

"Weird to put us on a morning shift, though."

 

"I think," Gansey said, choosing his words carefully, "the Chief must be up to something."

 

A noncommittal hum, and Ronan turned off the highway and onto Main Street.

 

The little city was just beginning to stir, shops opening, light flipping on, dogs howling, children laughing. The smells of coffee and breakfast and fresh soap filled the air, wafting out windows into the warm spring air.

 

Three blocks deeper, and Ronan turned into the Henrietta Police Department's parking lot, sliding his charcoal BMW between a pretty silver Fisker and an irritatingly familiar black Volvo. The reserved spot at the end of the lot was already occupied by the Chief's champagne Bentley. It was strange for him to be in so early, and Ronan felt himself tense up.

 

"Relax." There was laughter in Gansey's voice as he climbed out of the BMW. "You haven't done anything to anger him in ages."

 

Ronan's only response was a click of his tongue and a slam of his door.

 

It was already warm, the Henrietta spring, already humid, though the sun was barely peeking over the tree line. It had already burned off the clouds and last night's dew.

 

"Hate this weather," Ronan grumbled as he and Gansey made for the door. Gansey, for his part, laughed.

 

"Detectives!"

 

While Gansey's smile remained firmly in place as they stepped into the station, Ronan rolled his eyes, sneering, " _I'm not a detective_."

 

"Gansey is. You _could be_ , if you behaved yourself." At Ronan's lifted eyebrow, Henry laughed. "You're right, that is not very likely, is it?"

 

"Nope."

 

"Well, we like you just the way you are," Henry said, smiling widely, "you special snowflake."

 

Ronan's glare could cut glass, but Henry hardly seemed to mind. They'd all known each other since their Aglionby days, though Henry was two years behind Gansey and Ronan, and Henry had developed a thousand different shields to ward off the thousand nonverbal attacks of Ronan Lynch.

 

Gansey rolled his eyes at both of them, smiling and saying pleasantly, "Good morning, Henry."

 

"'Morning." Henry pressed a mug of cold coffee into Gansey's hand, saying in a conspirator's whisper, "Chief wants to see you two in his office. Didn't say what about. Didn't look particularly cross, though." He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Best to see what he wants, I think."

 

Shooting a raised eyebrow at Ronan and setting his coffee mug down, Gansey asked, "Do you know what this is about?"

 

"Same shit as always, probably." Though the voice was similar, it was not Ronan's. Settling into one of the desks, a steaming Starbucks cup in hand, Declan asked of his brother, "What did you do?"

 

"He hasn't done anything." As always, Chief Gray's voice cut through all others. He stood just outside his office at the far side of the room, leaning against the door jamb, a patch of silver in the midst of a sea of navy blue. "Gansey, Lynch. We need to talk." It was clear which Lynch he meant, and he did not wait for them as he returned to his office.

 

Exchanging an anxious glance, Ronan and Gansey followed, stepping into the isolated quiet of the Chief's office, Ronan closing the door behind them.

 

"Is something wrong?" Gansey asked by way of greeting.

 

"In a way." Seated behind his desk, Gray slid a file folder forward across the blotter.

 

Ronan was the one to pick it up, thumbing through its contents. "Street racers?" he asked, one brow lifting.

 

"They're becoming a serious problem," Gray said, steepling his fingers, elbows on the desk. "The strip isn't enough for them anymore, and they're closing off roads without authorization, causing accidents among the civilians and among each other. We've had three deaths over it in the past two months alone."

 

"And you're giving _us_ this assignment?" Ronan's eyes, bright with possibility, darted to meet Gansey's. His smile was razor-sharp, though Gansey was clearly than less pleased, his eyebrows drawn together.

 

" _Us_?" Gansey repeated.

 

"More Lynch than you," Gray conceded. He leaned farther forward, crossing his arms over the top of his desk. "The scene is getting out of hand." It was an understatement. He was good with those. "Sending in one of our own is the only option we haven't tried."

 

Though Gansey was clearly hesitant to say so with Ronan at his side, his eyes meeting his partner's for just an instant, he admitted, "I'm not sure Ronan is the best choice for this assignment, sir."

 

Ronan just flashed him a smirk, unoffended.

 

"Of course he is." There was no room for doubt in Gray's voice. There never was. "These racer types are reckless, but they aren't stupid. They'll be able to smell the training on the other officers in an instant. Lynch is the only one who can do this convincingly."

 

Ronan's smile was even sharper then, and Gansey asked, giving a wry, hesitant smile of his own, "How will I keep him out of trouble if it's _his_ assignment?"

 

Gray said, mirroring Gansey's expression, "You could just use your cell phone."

 

And then Ronan's smile was gone. He hated cell phones.

 

Gansey, though, seemed marginally comforted by the thought. "And what is it I will be doing while Ronan is undercover?" he asked next.

 

"You will be on stand-by in one of the decoy cars." Gray's eyes met Gansey's, silver on hazel. "That Camaro of yours draws too much attention." He and Gansey shared a brief smile. "I'd like you to at least keep a Blue Tooth connection up, as often as you can. Texts, if that's what it comes down to. Check-ins every hour or so. It's not always going to be possible, I know, but..." He trailed off before he glanced over to Ronan. "This is your first turn undercover, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah, it is." It was true of both of them, actually, though Gansey naturally garnered more trust than Ronan did; Gansey had been with the force for four years, and he had no criminal record. Ronan, on the other hand, had only been on a year-and-a-half, and his record was longer than the rest of the officers' combined.

 

"I think," the Chief said, slowly, deliberately, "it might be best to pair you temporarily with one of the older detectives. Someone who has a bit more experience undercover."

 

It was code: Gray wanted the other Lynch the force employed to act as Ronan's partner. There was no way that would end well, but before Ronan could voice his protest, Gansey stepped in with a pragmatic, "We appreciate your concern, Chief, but I'm sure we can handle it."

 

Though he shot Gansey a withering look, Ronan asked the Chief, "When do we start?"

 

"Around eleven o'clock tomorrow night," Gray replied, shuffling through the folder once it was returned to his hands. He pulled a page from it, placing it on the table and pointing to a red _X_ he had drawn upon it earlier. It was a map of the southern side of Henrietta, mostly focusing on the defunct industrial district. "An informant has told us that this warehouse is the ringleader's base. From what we gather, his name is K, he drives a white Mitsubishi with a knife graphic down either side, and he's quite dangerous."

 

"Just _K_?" Gansey asked, brows drawn together. "It's not even _a name_. It could be completely random. Can we trust this informant?"

 

Gray's mouth twisted in distaste. "We can trust him," he said, "but I feel like he's not giving us the entire truth. He's most likely afraid. If this K is really as bad as he says, he would be killed if he were found out."

 

A somber nod, and Gansey turned to Ronan, saying, "Come on. We have some planning to do."

 

Tossing a nod of his own at the Chief and grabbing the folder back, Ronan followed Gansey out and past the main area, looping around the outside of the building to where the patrol cars sat. Gansey was quick to claim the driver's seat, and no sooner than Ronan had done up his seatbelt, they were off.

 

"Shall we stake out on the exit ramp?" Gansey asked.

 

"Sure." Ronan hardly sounded present, his full attention on the contents of the folder in his lap, flipping through its myriad pages with scrutinizing eyes.

 

Within moments, they arrived at the exit ramp heading out of town. The whole trip, Ronan had been silent, and as they settled into their usual nook at the roadside, beneath the shade of a towering beech tree, that silence persisted. Even with the chatter of the scanner in the background, it was too quiet, and Gansey asked, "You're nervous, aren't you?"

 

Sighing, Ronan slid the folder into the car's glovebox. "Bit," he admitted.

 

"Why?"

 

Ronan gave no answer.

 

"You don't need to be nervous, Ronan." There was no doubting Gansey when he used _that_ voice. "I'll be nitpicking at you the entire time. I'm not going to let you fall back into it."

 

To his own surprise, Ronan felt himself smile. "Thanks, man."

 

"Of course. We're partners, after all." Gansey gave his own smile then, extending his hand for a fist-bump, a gesture of long bygone years that had somehow followed them into adulthood.

 

Ronan gratefully returned it. He was soon distracted, though, when a large red truck sped past them. "Already?" He couldn't fight down his excitement.

 

"This is shaping up to be quite a day!" Gansey laughed as they gave chase, the siren blaring above them.

 

The driver only went about a hundred feet more before pulling onto the shoulder.

 

Ronan scoffed, " _Coward_." It came almost as a snarl, and Gansey rolled his eyes, still smiling. "That wasn't even a chase." Undoing his seatbelt, he said to his partner, "This prob'ly won't take long." Sighing, Ronan slammed the door of the patrol car, glancing out at the mostly-empty freeway before approaching the truck's driver's side door. He knocked on the window, and it slowly slid down, hand-cranked. "You know how fast you were going?" Ronan asked.

 

"Ninety-three in a fifty-five," the driver said, matter-of-fact. It was not arrogance, but impatience. He glanced to Ronan with red-rimmed, sleep-shadowed eyes, his hands still on the steering wheel, his cracked knuckles white with the force of it. Somehow, the darkened, stormy eyes increased the strange elegance of his face. He was lovely.

 

"Y'know that's illegal, yeah?"  


"Look," the driver said, his Southern drawl painfully obvious and painfully charming, "my mother was just put into intensive care; I need to get to the hospital."

 

Ronan had heard this story before. "Which hospital?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, one brow lifting in a combination of irritation and curiosity.

 

"G.F.M. Wright Memorial, down on--"

 

"I know where it is." The driver scowled, and suddenly, he was no longer pretty, but fierce. Ronan fought back a shiver. "Why's she there?"

 

A scoff, red-hot in anger, and driver all but growled, "My father."

 

 _Shit_. Awkwardly, Ronan cleared his throat. Then, resting his forearm along the window frame, he said, "License, registration and proof of insurance."

 

They were produced quickly, handed over easily. _Adam Parrish_. Nineteen years old. Licensed since age sixteen. Owner of the truck, insurance and stickers up to date. Glancing up to meet Parrish's eyes, Ronan said, "Hold it under the speed limit 'til you get to the hospital, and I'll let you off." He handed the paperwork back, doing his best to ignore the spark that flooded through him when their fingertips brushed together. "Understand?"

 

As Parrish tucked the paperwork back into the truck's glovebox, he muttered, "I don't want your pity."

 

That eyebrow raised again, and Ronan said, trying and failing to hide his amusement, "Kinda stubborn, aren'cha?"

 

Parrish's eyes, a stormy gray-blue, widened for a moment, looking mortified for just an instant before returning to the road. Sounding exceptionally reluctant and just the slightest bit shamed, he softly said, "Thank you."

 

A nod, and Ronan stepped back to the patrol car, watching from the door as the truck sped away, this time minding the speed limit.

 

"Ronan?" Ronan said nothing as he settled back into his seat. "You let him off?"

 

"Obviously."

 

"Was he really that pretty?"

 

Ronan scowled at him, saying, "His mom's in the hospital, and there's no one on the road." His voice was nearly drowned out by the growl of a passing semi.

 

"There's no _what_?" Gansey asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

 

"There's no one--" Another rumble, and by went a garbage truck. Ronan rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks and hissing, " _Fuck it_."

 

Gansey laughed as they pulled back onto the highway.


	2. Seeing Ghosts

Dark, tight jeans, low-slung and artfully torn. Black muscle tank, his tattoo peeking over his shoulder and his neck, snaking down his arms. Heavy, thick-heeled motorcycle boots, well-scuffed.

 

Ronan Lynch looked for all the world like the thug he had once been.

 

Standing before the tall mirror on the back of his closet door, Ronan was very nearly aghast at the sight of himself. It had been ages since he'd looked so much like _himself_ , and there was something thrillingly _right_ about it.

 

The only real difference between the Ronan of now and the Ronan of then was the thick golden band about his ring finger, and though he twisted it for a moment, indecisive, he did not take it off. He hadn't taken it off since the day it had been given to him. It was a risk, he knew, to wear it among this crowd, but he would not take it off now.

 

When he stepped out into the living room of his apartment, Gansey seemed to be as surprised as he was. "Well." It came on a soft, startled breath. "Look at you."

 

"Feels kinda weird," Ronan admitted, settling at Gansey's side on the worn leather sofa, legs splayed, arms tossed carelessly over the backrest. Despite his moral straightening-out, his body language hadn't changed. "Like I'm suddenly a different person."

 

"It's like seeing a ghost," Gansey agreed.

 

"Good-looking ghost, though."

 

At that, Gansey gave a soft huff of laughter, doing nothing to disagree. Then he asked, "What about me?" He gestured at himself, ignoring Ronan's soft scoff. "How do I look?"

 

A click of his tongue, and Ronan said, "Like a poser."

 

Gansey shot him an irritated look for that, though his pretty hazel glare was far less than fearsome. "Will I be able to be among the racers convincingly?" he asked next.

 

"Prob'ly." It was odd to see Gansey in jeans, even black ones, and the tight, V-necked t-shirt he wore looked equally strange. Richard Campbell Gansey III was not a creature meant to be seen in black. As _right_ as Ronan looked, Gansey looked _utterly **wrong**_. _He hasn't worn black since the funeral_ , Ronan suddenly thought. To keep the thought at bay, he said, "Just try to keep your mouth shut, yeah?"

 

"Yeah," Gansey echoed, and it was clear that he had seen the pain anyway, Ronan could tell. Instead of pointing it out, though, he stood. "It's getting late," he said. "We should probably get going."

 

"Did you get a different car?" Ronan asked as they left, careful to shut off the lights and lock the door behind him. "Chief said the Camaro was too flashy, didn't he?"

 

"He did." The thought of the Camaro's attention-grabbing ability seemed to cheer Gansey, as it always did, and he smiled. "We've both been lent cars for this assignment. They were dropped off while you were preening." Ronan rolled his eyes. _Preening_. Who the Hell used words like _preening_? "Mine is quite low-key, but yours…"

 

Gansey trailed off, and Ronan lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

 

"Yours is…" Gansey pressed his thumb to his lips for a moment. " _Decidedly_ flashy."

 

Ronan seemed pleased by that, smirking a bit as they made their way down the hall and down the stairs and out through the lobby of the apartment complex.

 

Even so late, nearly eleven o'clock, the spring heat was palpable, humid and heavy, settling like leaden weights in their lungs. Carefully, they crossed the mostly-empty street and headed into the parking garage, taking the dingy elevator up to the third level, corresponding with Ronan's third-floor apartment, where Gansey's glorious Camaro was parked beside Ronan's sleek BMW.

 

Beside them were two cars which Ronan had never seen before.

 

One was an incredibly dull Chevrolet Lumina, the red-orange paint chipped and stained to an unattractive parody of the Camaro's color. Ronan snorted at it, and Gansey gave a heavy, defeated sigh. Such blandness did not suit him.

 

The second car was a stunning candy-apple-red Lamborghini Aventador, shining even in the dim light of the garage's bare overhead bulbs. Ronan was, quite obviously, impressed, running one hand gently, almost reverently, along the roof of the car, just above the seam of the door. "Holy shit," was his final assessment.

 

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Gansey's arms were crossed over his chest, his smile proud. "It was a gift from Helen. You know how she is about cars. She can't bear to see me in the Camaro when I could have _something nicer_." Those last two words came in a high-pitched voice, a surprisingly decent imitation of his elder sister, cocky and just the slightest bit waspish.

 

"Gotta admit she's got good taste," Ronan said, and Gansey's smile fell.

 

He still sounded rather amused, though, when he asked, "It's going to get destroyed, isn't it?"

 

"Most likely."

 

Running his pointer finger over the glossy paint of the hood, Gansey said, "I'd very much like it if this car were to stay in one piece, Ronan."

 

"So would I," Ronan agreed, accepting the keys when Gansey pressed them into his hand, "but I can't make any guarantees." Pressing a button on the key fob, the alarm chirped off, and the Aventador's door lifted open like the wing of a great, shiny ladybug. _Scissor doors_. Ronan had never been in a car with scissor doors. Again, soft and awe-struck, he murmured, " _Holy shit_."

 

"I think you might have mentioned that." Gansey smiled as he climbed into the dull little Lumina, looking vaguely ashamed and incredibly out of place.

 

Ronan looked the exact opposite of ashamed as he slid into the Aventador's leather seat, pulling the door down behind him. Sliding the key into the ignition, he reveled in the sound of the car purring to life beneath him, touching a button on the door to roll both windows down. He set his hands upon the steering wheel, rested his head back against the seat, and breathed deep, savoring the feel and the sound and the smell of it. No way he was giving it back to Gansey. _No fucking way_.

 

Tossing a nod to Gansey though the window, Ronan took off in a spray of gravel, winding his way down the levels of the garage in a series of tight turns, warm spring air dancing along his skin as they went. Gansey followed close behind as they darted out of the garage, struggling to keep up as they made their way to the south side of Henrietta, a block or so away from the warehouse Gray had named as the racers' base.

 

As they circled the block, Ronan grudgingly grabbed at his phone, taking in the rusty old warehouses lining the street of the defunct industrial district. When Gansey accepted his call, he asked, "Where're you gonna be?"

 

"Do you remember the garage we passed?"

 

He did. "Half a block west."

 

"That's the one." Gansey's Southern-honey voice was tinny over the phone, its charm lost. Ronan hated it. "I'll be parked on the ground floor."

 

"Gotcha."

 

Just as Ronan moved the phone from his ear, though, Gansey said, suddenly apprehensive, "And Ronan...?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Stay in touch, all right?" Gansey sounded nothing less than _immensely_ concerned. "There's an earpiece in the glovebox. Keep the connection on the phone open, engage the Blue Tooth, and _for God's sake_ , **_please_ ** respond when I talk to you. I know you hate your phone, but this is important, understand?"

 

"Yeah, I know."

 

It sounded strangely somber, and Gansey said a quick, quiet, "Good luck," before falling silent altogether.

 

Suddenly alone in the near-silence of the Aventador, Ronan sighed, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel and merging into the stream of candy-colored cars circling the building, lining either side of the three-lane street.

 

There was something exhilarating about just _being among_ this crowd again, and when Ronan parked along the road and stepped into the damp Henrietta night, he was well aware of his seconds as the center of their attention.

 

And then they were distracted once more, young and fickle, cheers rising through them as a white Mitsubishi screamed to a stop in the middle of the road twenty or so feet farther than Ronan's spot. Some rap song or other was blasting from within it, shaking the very ground beneath it, though Ronan could not place the language. Russian, perhaps?

 

Fitting the earpiece in, he asked, experimental, "Gansey?"

 

A hiss of static, and then, "Yes?"

 

"Don't s'pose you can see?" Ronan asked, softly enough that the throng surrounding him wouldn't hear.

 

"Not really." Gansey didn't seem particularly bothered by it. "I'm heading closer now." A grunt and then, soft and gentlemanly, "Oh, I beg your pardon." Ronan rolled his eyes. "Why? What's happening?"

 

"A white Mitsu just pulled up."

 

Ronan could practically hear Gansey pressing a thumb to his lip when he asked, "Knife graphic on the side?"

 

"Yeah." Ronan did his best to ignore the thrill that ran down his spine at the sight of the car and the sound of its engine and the scent of gasoline lingering around it. "It's him."

 

"I suppose it would be a bit forward to just approach him outright?" Gansey asked.

 

"That kinda talk," Ronan replied, eyes rolling again despite his smile, "is why they gave this assignment to _me_ instead of you."

 

Though Gansey laughed, he managed to ask, "So what do you suggest?"

 

"Not quite sure."

 

The sound of Ronan's reply never reached Gansey, drowned out by the rasping purr of the Mitsubishi's engine, and Ronan allowed himself a shiver, leaning back against the Lamborghini's door, just basking in the utter _recklessness_ of it all. He had missed this.

 

Beside the Mitsubishi, another car now idled, slick and black, older, but just as pretty. A Mazda of some kind. _MX-5_ , Ronan thought.

 

Before he could be sure, both cars took off.

 

"Are you still there?" Gansey was suddenly asking, though from his vantage point across the street, he could see his partner, and his rather garish car, quite easily.

 

"I'm here."

 

It sounded faint, and Gansey was clearly concerned when he asked, "Everything all right?"

 

 _All right_ was an understatement.

 

Everything was _phenomenal_.

 

Ronan hadn't felt so alive, so _Ronan_ , since they'd been teenagers, since Niall, since _Noah_. The world was electric, the air hot and thick with gasoline, waiting for a single spark to set it all ablaze.

 

Ronan was willing to strike the match himself, if need be.

 

"Ronan?"

 

"I'm all right."

 

Though it was faint, Gansey seemed to be satisfied, at least for the moment, and Ronan watched him tuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He'd never seen Gansey look so uncomfortable. It was strangely cute, and Ronan put the thought out of his mind as the Mitsubishi and the Mazda screamed their way around the corner, flinging up gravel and tire smoke as they fought their way home.

 

By mere feet, the Mitsubishi won, tires squealing to a stop in front of the warehouse once more. The door swung open just as the Mazda was grinding to a halt. Before the smoke had even cleared, its driver was at the Mazda's driver's-side door, reaching into the window to collect his winnings.

 

"A slip of paper?" Gansey asked, and Ronan could nearly hear the puzzled furrow between his brows. "What is that, an IOU?"

 

"It's the title to the car," Ronan said, watching as the Mazda's driver clung to the steering wheel, steadfastly refusing to leave his-- K's now-- vehicle.

 

There had been a troupe of four at the warehouse's business entrance, and at K's nod, they stepped closer. Still, the Mazda's driver refused to budge, and K leaned as far into the front seat as he could, swiping out the keys before he could drive off. K was speaking now, his voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd around him, though he soon cut himself off to pull a gun from where it was tucked into the back of his pants.

 

At last, the driver climbed out, hands in the air, terror written clearly across his face.

 

"He's not actually going to shoot that man, is he?" Gansey sounded faint, and Ronan could easily see how wide his eyes were, even across the road.

 

"I dunno." It wasn't entirely true.

 

A punch to the jaw, breaking stubbled skin, and the driver was on the ground, trembling as a tall, ice-pale, ice-blonde man, one of K's dogs, pressed a heavy boot to his stomach.

 

Another of K's men, small and dark and lovely, accepted the Mazda's keys from his leader and drove off in it.

 

The third man, strawberry-blonde with a sprinkling of freckles over his crooked nose, was given the keys to the leader's Mitsubishi, and followed the Mazda away.

 

The man on the ground, still trembling, pushed up onto his elbows, watching with wide eyes, lips quivering as he spoke. His voice never came: The bullet into his forehead was quite effective in preventing it.

 

"Ronan!" Gansey sounded as terrified as the driver had looked.

 

Blowing smoke from the barrel of the gun, K spoke again, and the large blonde man proceeded to hoist the Mazda's limp driver over his shoulder, paying no mind to the blood seeping slowly into his shirt.

 

Reaching into the corpse's back pocket, the fourth member of K's little gang, Asian of some sort, rather short but utterly intimidating, grabbed at the driver's wallet. Pulling out an ID, he spoke to K for a moment before the ringleader wandered off, looking bored. Shrugging, he pocketed the wallet.

 

"Ronan," Gansey was saying, "we have to do something."

 

"We can't blow our cover."

 

Almost sounding desperate, Gansey argued, "He just killed a man!"

 

To that, Ronan said nothing, for mere seconds later, the driver of the Mitsubishi was standing before him. This was K, Ronan was certain of it.

 

He was shorter than Ronan by a good two inches, and he was much thinner, wiry, though there was something utterly imposing about him. White wife beater, baggy designer jeans barely clinging to his hips, eyes hidden behind white-rimmed Gucci sunglasses... There was something _expensively trashy_ about him, too, and Ronan suppressed a shudder. Of course, it could easily have been the gun tucked into his waistband that was raising gooseflesh along Ronan's skin.

 

Across the street, Gansey gave a half-irritated sigh, murmuring, "Keep your head, Ronan."

 

Ronan didn't reply, riveted when K jerked his chin toward the car. "She yours?" he asked, his voice husky with smoke.

 

"Borrowed," Ronan said, "from a friend." One thin, dark brow lifted over the frame of those sunglasses, and Ronan scoffed, insolent, "Never said he knew I was borrowing it."

 

A nod, a smirk, appreciative, and K held out his hand, "Name's Kavinsky."

 

Ronan did the same, saying, "Lynch."

 

Kavinsky's grip was firm, his hands calloused, knuckles scarred over from countless fights, nails bitten short, palm sweaty. The Mazda's driver had left fresh bloodstains across his knuckles, under his nails. Ronan's hands weren't much different.

 

"Joseph Kavinsky," Gansey reported into Ronan's ear. He'd spent the afternoon memorizing the names and faces of the town's criminals, and it seemed to have come in handy. "Street racer, car thief, drug dealer, all-around thug." Under his breath, Gansey muttered. "His father must be very proud."

 

Ronan paid Gansey no mind, watching in awed silence as Kavinsky pulled off his sunglasses. _Who the fuck wears sunglasses at night_? Beneath them, K's pupils were blown out, so much so that the color of his eyes couldn't be ascertained, blood-shot and red-rimmed and sleep-shadowed and _starving_. They were the eyes of a shark.

 

"Do you think he's _K_ , though?" Gansey asked. "It was included on his alias list."

 

 _He had to be_.

 

"You gonna race?" Kavinsky asked in his smoke-roughened voice.

 

"Maybe." Carefully, Ronan met those dark, fierce eyes with his own. "If you can make it worth my while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look up the Aventador, if you haven't seen it. They are beautiful machines. And they're so very fast! The Lumina, on the other hand… Not so much. My first car was a Lumina, and that's really the only reason I picked it as Gansey's "stealth" vehicle. Don't be offended, Lumina drivers! Lol
> 
> Also, we've met all the main players now! The Dream Pack will become important, as well! In order, their appearances go as follows: Skov, Swan, Prokopenko and Jiang. They will be described in greater detail later on. And the setup is complete! The ball really gets to rolling in the next chapter :)
> 
> And I have a silly thing to add: Gansey's "it's lovely, isn't it?" line was very nearly made into a Great Gatsby quote: "It's pretty, isn't it, old sport?" Gansey is so Gatsby-like it hurts, especially considering Gatbsy is one of my favorite characters of all time...
> 
> Excited for more fics? Have constructive criticism or even just silly comments to add? Let me know! And as always, I must mention that I go by Exxxalted on Tumblr, and I'm totally open to taking questions and comments and requests and prompts there! :) Hit me up!


	3. Niall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of drug use in this chapter, but it's just pot, nothing serious as of yet. There's also some jealousy-fuelled grinding, which is much more fun.

In the sickly yellow-white glow of the streetlight, Kavinsky's dark eyes were bottomless, and it took all the willpower Ronan had not to fall into them. He was leaning in too close, crowding Ronan back against the Lamborghini's door, and Ronan licked his lips when those dark eyes fell to them.

 

A wolf-whistle from a particularly rude bystander was enough to ruin the mood. Ronan could have sworn it was the strawberry-blonde, freckled one. One of K's boys. Kavinsky shot a glare in that direction.

 

The moment was lost.

 

Clearly reluctant, Kavinsky pulled back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His breathing was just the slightest bit shallow. With a jerk of his chin towards the defunct warehouse, he said, his voice rough and choked with smoke and sex and gasoline, "C'mon." He stepped away, not even bothering to check if Ronan was following.

 

He wasn't.

 

"Go with him," came Gansey's voice at his ear. Across the street, he was giving Ronan an imploring look.

 

Softly enough that Kavinsky couldn't hear, Ronan argued, "I can't--"

 

"You _can_." There was no disobeying that tone. " _Go with him_ , Ronan. I won't let you do anything you'll regret, I promise."

 

 _You can't promise that_ , Ronan didn't say. He did say, "Be careful out here."

 

"I'm always careful."

 

It was true, and Ronan smiled, and he followed Kavinsky into the warehouse.

 

The inside was as much in shambles as the outside was, all half-smashed, ceiling-high windows and rusted metal, occupied only by an uneven pentagon in the center of the space formed of three worn sofas and a pair of threadbare armchairs. Several air conditioners occupied the windows, cooling the space just enough to be comfortable, and a ludicrously expensive-looking stereo system sat in one corner, though it wasn't in use at the moment.

 

There were men already inside, all of Kavinsky's dogs, save the ice-carved blonde, and Ronan tensed a bit as all their eyes fell upon him, one pair black, one pair gold, the third a blue so pale it was almost white.

 

"Boys." Kavinsky's voice echoed against the walls of the warehouse, and they rained rust in praise. "This is Lynch."

 

"Just _Lynch_?" The freckled blonde asked, settled in one of the armchairs. He sounded almost insulted. Was he jealous? "There a first name that goes with that, or…?"

 

"Give them a false name," Gansey said into Ronan's ear.

 

"Niall," was the first name that came to mind. "Niall Lynch." It wasn't a lie, technically.

 

At the sound of the name, the pretty, dark-skinned young man draped over the back of the farthest sofa wrinkled his nose. He scoffed, " _Niall_?"

 

" _Yeah_ ," Kavinsky agreed, "just gonna stick with _Lynch_ , I think. Swan?" The pretty one met blown-dark eyes with startling amber. "Go get Skov, and bring a few chicks with, yeah?"

 

"Yeah," came the echo, and Swan openly eyed Ronan on his way out.

 

"The meet-and-greet over with now?" It was a new voice, smooth and sharp, coming from the second of the armchairs, where the Asian man sat, a laptop cradled on his crossed legs. He was rather short, there was something _untouchable_ about him. He seemed the fiercest of the lot. "We have loose ends."

 

Though Kavinsky lifted an irritated brow, he did nothing to argue the point. Leaning close-- A bit too close, really-- He pressed a hand to the small of Ronan's back, sliding around his hip as he passed to settle upon one of the unoccupied sofas, cocking his head in Ronan's direction.

 

It was an invitation, and Ronan took it, aware of the irate look the freckled member of the group shot at him in response.

 

He really _was_ jealous.

 

Unlike Ronan, however, Kavinsky did not ignore it, saying, " _Enough_ , Proko."

 

"We don't know him--"

 

" _Prokopenko_."

 

It was a snarl that time, and Prokopenko shivered, a pretty blush tinting his freckled cheeks and his crooked, many-times-broken nose. It clearly wasn't a flush of shame.

 

"Don't be jealous," Kavinsky added, and it was clearly an order that he didn't necessarily want followed. Prokopenko demurely dropped his colorless gaze, fiddling idly with a set of keys. Ronan found himself wondering if they were the keys he'd been given for the Mitsubishi, or if they were the keys to his own car. Kavinsky, satisfied, turned his eyes to the other member of his little gang, asking, "Jiang?"

 

Jiang's eyes, darker even than Kavinsky's, mirror-black, darted to Ronan for an instant, and he asked, "Is it safe to talk about this around _him_?"

 

"Don't see why not." It came with a shrug.

 

Though he still looked doubtful, Jiang said, "The MX-5 is fully paid off, our guy was the official owner, so all we've gotta do it get the title in your name. No major legalities to worry about, at least."

 

"Except that the guy's dead," Ronan muttered.

 

Though Jiang looked thunderstruck and almost offended, Kavinsky rasped out a laugh and Prokopenko offered an undignified little snort.  Maybe he wasn't as much of a stuck-up prick as he seemed.

 

" _Right_." Turning the laptop out to face Kavinsky, Jiang said, "Apparently he was a teacher at Aglionby." The computer screen showed the Aglionby Academy website. "A Latin teacher, Barrington Whelk." Under his breath, he added, turning the computer back towards himself, "Always hated Latin..."

 

"Same," Prokopenko agreed, picking at his chewed nails, the keyring forgotten on the arm of his chair.

 

"I always _skipped_ Latin," Kavinsky said with a smirk.

 

When his turn to speak came, Ronan asked, "You guys went to Aglionby?"

 

"What makes you think we went there?" Jiang's words came on a sneer.

 

"It's the only place around here that teaches Latin," Ronan pointed out, and Jiang tipped his head in acknowledgement. "You went there, I guess?"

 

" _You_ went there?" Jiang sounded a bit affronted by the implication. "What year did you graduate?"

 

"2012." Ronan didn't realize the mistake until after he'd made it.

 

Gansey, however, caught it immediately, saying, "We'll get your online presence wiped, all right? I'm going to call Henry, so I'll be offline for just a moment, all right?" Ronan could not give an answer. "Make sure you get their names." The races going on outside apparently made it difficult for Gansey to hear. "We need as much information as we can get, especially about Kavinsky's inner circle. I'm going to hang up, and when I call you back, _answer_."

 

Absently, Ronan nodded.

 

"You're from the same class as me?" Kavinsky, unlike Jiang, was smiling. Well, _smirking_ , really. It was hard to imagine him wearing an actual _smile_.

 

Furrowing his brow a bit, Ronan asked, "You're not all from the same class?"

 

"We're kinda scattered around," K said with a shrug. "Proko and me're from 2012. Skov's from the year before, Jiang's from the year before that, and Swan's 2013." Kavinsky paused then, eyeing Ronan when he pointed out, "Can't remember seeing you around, though, and you're kind of a stand-out..."

 

From his chair, Jiang was staring, too.

 

"If you're really from Aglionby," Prokopenko suddenly said, ignoring the chirping of Ronan's phone as he reconnected with Gansey, "Prove it."

 

Both Ronan and Kavinsky glanced over at him, but neither spoke, simply glaring.

 

"Aglionby's the only school around here that teaches Latin," Prokopenko pointed out. "Say something in Latin, and maybe I'll believe you went there."

 

"This," K said, looking half amused and half irritated, "is why you don't have friends."

 

Ronan ignored Kavinsky in favor of a favorite phrase of school days: " _Quemadmodum gladius neminem occidet; Occidentis telum est_."

 

"Very nice," Gansey said into his ear, clearly impressed.

 

Kavinsky's brow crinkled in thought, and Prokopenko gnawed at his already ragged thumbnail, colorless eyes darting about, as if he would find a translation hidden in one of the warehouse's dark corners.

 

Rolling his eyes at them, Jiang muttered, "A sword is never a killer; It is a tool in a killer's hand."

 

"Thought you hated Latin?" Ronan asked, vaguely impressed, and at his side, Kavinsky scoffed.

 

"Just because I hate something," Jiang said, his eyes sharp as obsidian blades, "doesn't mean I'm not good at it."

 

"By that logic," Swan said as he came back inside, his arm looped around Skov's, as if they were love-struck teenagers, "you oughta be good at _everything_."

 

A half-smirk, and then, "I _am_ good at everything, actually."

 

"Yeah, sure." Then Swan turned his attention to Kavinsky, leaning his elbows against the back of the sofa where he and Ronan were sitting, placing himself between them. "No gals out there, K. At least, none worth looking at. 'Course..." Swan's curious amber gaze turned to Ronan. "Isn't that what you brought _Niall_ here for?"

 

Behind him, Skov wrapped strong arms around his waist, chin rested atop his head, and Swan was incredibly small by comparison.

 

"He's kinda hot," Swan continued, unabashed, his eyes on Ronan's, "but don't you have Proko for that?" His voice dropped, his gaze shifting to catch K's. "Don't you have _us_ for that?"

 

" _Swan_." It was a warning, and Swan smiled.

 

"Want him to take care of _this_?" Leaning over the back of the sofa, Swan trailed one hand along the zipper of Kavinsky's jeans, mouthing at the side of his neck. "We aren't good enough for you anymore, huh, K?"

 

When Kavinsky twisted to throw a half-hearted punch at his shoulder, though, Swan darted away, laughing, Skov following close behind.

 

" _Asshole_ ," K muttered, and it sounded strangely like a term of endearment.

 

"So." Swan settled on one of the sofas, legs spread, and Skov plopped onto the floor between them, leaning back so Swan could tangle dark, slender fingers into ice-blonde hair. "Anything interesting going on tonight?"

 

"Not a goddamn thing." There was no venom in Prokopenko's voice. He was idly licking blood from where he'd managed to tear his cuticle.

 

"There's no one out there worth racing, or fighting, or fucking," Kavinsky agreed, though Ronan was aware of the look those dark eyes levelled on him. He was the exception.

 

"You didn't see that li'l red Aventador?" Skov's voice was softer than Ronan had expected, smooth and deep. He had a voice for the radio.

 

Kavinsky's eyes rolled. "It's Lynch's."

 

Skov's fair brows drew together at that, and he asked, " _Lynch_?"

 

"Me," Ronan said.

 

"Oh." It was a faint sound, though Skov only looked away from Ronan when a lighter was flicked over his head.

 

"Did you bring enough for the whole class?" Prokopenko asked, and Swan laughed, high and sweet and delighted.

 

"'Course I did!"

 

"Joints all around," Ronan murmured.

 

"Reefer madness, eh?" Gansey said into Ronan's ear, and it took all Ronan had not to laugh at him. How a man so young could be so incredibly _old_ was beyond him.

 

He was distracted, though, when Swan asked, "Want one?"

 

" _Don't_ ," Gansey warned.

 

Ronan accepted the proffered joint just the same. At his side, Kavinsky leaned closer, and with his own joint held between his lips, he pressed its glowing tip to the tip of Ronan's, their faces mere inches apart. Their eyes met, blue on blown-black, and Ronan was certain he was blushing by the time he pulled back, though he did his best to banish the thought. It had been a good year-and-a-half since he'd smoked _anything_ , and he distracted himself with the taste and the feel of smoke burning inside him again.

 

"Takes it like a champ," Swan murmured.

 

"Bet he does," came Kavinsky's voice, and he smirked when Ronan gave a telltale shiver.

 

In Ronan's ear, Gansey chirped, " _Keep your head_."

 

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," Skov said, his icy, impassive face surrounded by messy rings of blue-white smoke.

 

A scoff, and Prokopenko said, " _I would_."

 

" _Jelly_ ," Jiang hissed, and Prokopenko shot him a dirty look.

 

The silence that came after that was heavy, filled with only the sounds of heavy breath and the roaring of engines outside and the idle shuffling of fabric. Occasionally, there was a little gasp peppered in when Skov shifted a bit between Swan's spread legs.

 

"Now," Gansey said into Ronan's ear, "would be a wonderful time to ask questions."

 

He was right, and Ronan asked, "So who are you guys, anyway?"

 

"Nobody in particular." Prokopenko was the one to answer, sounding oddly defensive.

 

" _Proko_." Prokopenko's pale, nearly colorless eyes drifted to Kavinsky, and he snuffed his joint on the arm of the chair he sat in. Kavinsky tossed his own half-spent joint away, and Jiang barely dodged it. "C'mere." It was nothing short of a command, and Prokopenko followed it, standing before Kavinsky with crossed arms and averted eyes and pursed lips.

 

He gave a soft yelp when K took hold of him, pulling him down to straddle his hips, Kavinsky's left hand eventually coming to rest at the outside of his thigh. Tangling the other hand into strawberry-gold hair, K pulled him close, murmuring against his lips, " _That's enough_."

 

"You don't--"

 

" _Yeah, I do_." Kavinsky's hand, still bloodstained, ran through Prokopenko's hair, tinting the strands a pretty, coppery color, and he said, softly enough that only Prokopenko could hear, "You don't gotta be jealous." Ronan wondered how true that was. " _I'm all yours_."

 

Shooting a scathing glance at Ronan, Prokopenko pressed his hips to Kavinsky's, grinding down against him, and K laughed.

 

"Marking your territory?" Kavinsky sounded amused by the idea, though the huskiness in his voice was unmistakable.

 

Still looking uncertain, for just an instant, Prokopenko met Ronan's eyes. Then, hard and deliberate, his hands on hollow cheeks, he kissed Kavinsky.

 

"Get him!" Swan was cheering, and between his spread legs, Skov scoffed, half-amused.

 

" _Jelly_ ," Jiang muttered again.

 

When they finally parted, Kavinsky asked, his lips brushing Prokopenko's with every word, "You want me that bad?"

 

" _Mm-hmm_." It was more a purr than a real response.

 

"C'mon, then." A slap to his ass had Prokopenko shuddering, but he did not move. "Proko?"

 

And then Prokopenko's hands were around Kavinsky's wrists, pinning them to the worn fabric of the sofa beneath them. "No." His voice was soft, his eyes dark. "Here."

 

"Here?"

 

Prokopenko's hips rolled down against Kavinsky's, and he murmured, " _Here_."

 

It was too much, really, and Ronan shivered.

 

"K won't share Proko," Swan said when he caught Ronan's stare. He sounded oddly sympathetic. "But, y'know, Skov and I're always willing to have one more in with us, if you're interested."

 

It was a surprisingly tempting offer, especially when Skov caught one of Swan's legs and draped it over his bloodstained shoulder, his hand wrapped around Swan's calf, pressing a soft kiss to the inseam of his jeans.

 

"No, I..." Ronan trailed off, his voice faint when he noticed that Prokopenko's eyes were on him again, lust-dark and challenging, even with Kavinsky's tongue stuffed halfway down his throat. He shivered.

 

Then he stood.

 

"You leaving?" Kavinsky asked, though it clearly irritated Prokopenko that he'd stopped kissing him. Breathless, he rested his head against the back of the sofa. "Already?"

 

"Yeah."

 

A nod, then, "Tomorrow night." The breathiness of his voice sent gooseflesh dancing down Ronan's arms. Now _he_ was the jealous one, as ridiculous as that was. Prokopenko seemed to sense it, grinding his hips down hard, and Kavinsky arched beneath him. "Same time, same place." Kavinsky's eyes were impossibly dark, his voice shaky. "Be here, yeah?"

 

Then it was Ronan nodding, and again, his voice rough, "Yeah."

 

As Ronan stepped out into the night, he heard Jiang ask, "Who you think he was Blue Toothing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how do you guys feel about the Dream Pack, eh? I need to know! :) Seriously. I must know.
> 
> I quite like Swan, especially. How about you guys? I know there are headcanons regarding them that are pretty well accepted, and I kinda-sorta used a few of the bits, but I'm tryna put my own spin on 'em, yeah? 
> 
> I totally believe they'd have some sorta poly relationship going on, if that wasn't made clear enough, but I don't think K would be willing to share Proko. The others, sure. But not Proko. Proko is his. Proko is a dear, too, I promise. He's just being salty 'cause K's paying attention to someone new. He's also a bit of a masochist, as I imagine you'd have to be to put up with someone like K for long...
> 
> Also, sorry for this chapter being so dialogue-heavy. I hope I kept the chatter interesting, anyway. And we got to meet the Pack and learn their personalities, so it's worth it, right? As hazy (I.E., nonexistent) as their descriptions were in the books, I felt a meet-and-greet was kinda necessary :P
> 
> I apologize for the repost, but I felt like the boys needed more definition in their personalities. I'd really like to know how you guys feel about them.


	4. A Very Short Flamingo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No serious warnings for this chapter, though Ronan's still a bit high. There's a great deal of dialogue and introspection because of it. Ronan gets a little broody, and we learn a bit more about Noah. Enjoy!

"If we were to have a surprise drug test," Gansey said late that night, his voice soft, "would you pass?"

 

At his side, Ronan's eyes rolled. They were darker than usual, his pupils blown out, even in the over-bright lights of Gansey's office. He sat on the edge of the desk, idly gnawing at the leather bracelets around his scarred left wrist. The only verbal response he gave was somewhere between a dismissive groan and an irritated growl.

 

"I'm being serious, Ronan."

 

"When _aren't_ you being serious?" It almost sounded like an accusation, though Ronan's sharp smile cushioned the blow.

 

"Answer the question." Gansey's voice was overly loud, and he winced at it. Ronan didn't seem to notice.

 

The second floor of the police department, where the detectives' offices sat, was empty this late at night, nearly silent. Downstairs, the station was slow, the space occupied only by Carruthers and the night dispatcher, Calla. Gansey could hear her growling orders to the two of the three officers currently patrolling the streets, probably Morris and Engle. Dvorak rarely needed instruction. He found trouble all on his own.

 

Sighing, spinning idly in his desk chair, Gansey pressed, " _Would you_?"

 

"Would I _what_?"

 

Gansey clarified, slow and deliberate, to better make sense to Ronan's obviously drug-addled brain, " _Would you pass a drug test, Ronan_?"

 

A shrug, a smirk, and Ronan said, "There're ways to get around those tests."

 

"Oh, really?" Gansey dug his heels into the laminate, and his rotation stopped with a loud, obnoxious _squeak_. He met Ronan's eyes, markedly unamused.

 

Another shrug. Ronan was unconcerned. "I'll tell 'em I ate a poppy seed muffin or something."

 

"That only works for opiates," Gansey pointed out, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of his desk. The fabric of his t-shirt was tight over his shoulders, and for an instant, he desperately missed his usual baggy polos and generously-cut uniform shirts. He'd be in tees for the remainder of this assignment, he was sure of it. It was a distressing thought. But then something clicked, and his brow furrowed a bit when he asked, "You didn't...?"

 

"It was just weed, Gansey." There was something loose and lazy about Ronan's voice. It was proof enough, Gansey supposed. He was well aware of how marijuana effected Ronan by now, though it had been nearly two years since he'd seen it firsthand. "It's nothing to get your panties in a twist about."

 

"It's illegal."

 

Ronan was currently working his fingers beneath the bands on his wrist, seeing how far the leather stretched. It was apparently quite engrossing, as he didn't even bother to look up when he asked, "So what?"

 

Gansey's hands fisted, brows drawing together in frustration. "You are an _officer of the law_ , Ronan."

 

Two fingers were the limit of the leather, Ronan had found. It seemed to displease him, and he said again, " _So what_?"

 

" _Ronan_." Gansey said the name as if it were precious, an irreplaceable treasure. It was unfitting, Ronan thought, and he finally glanced up. "Ronan," Gansey said again, "don't do this."

 

Looking puzzled and irritated, Ronan asked, "What?"

 

Pressing two fingertips to his lips, Gansey said, softly, sincerely, "You can't fall back into this."

 

 _I'm not_ , Ronan almost said, but he couldn't force the words out. He wasn't a liar, and the risk of being lost amongst K's little pack was too much for him to deny it altogether. It sucked to admit it, but falling back into the lifestyle was a very real, very _dangerous_ possibility. He was at once thrilled by and terrified of it.

 

As terrible a thought as it was, being pulled back under, Ronan wanted it like mad.

 

He hadn't wanted anything so much since he'd been a boy, since he'd had his heart set on winning Noah.

 

"Ronan?" Gansey's voice was soft, clearly concerned, flitting from Ronan's his blown-dark eyes to his parted mouth and back again.

 

Ronan paid him no mind, instead studying the scars running up along the soft skin at the inside of his left wrist, digging his teeth into the leather bands he wore over them. They weren't particularly effective as camouflage, but he wore them just the same, even with his uniform. Force of habit, he told himself.

 

It was force of habit, too, that had Gansey acting as his ever-present guardian angel.

 

Annoying as it could be, Ronan was grateful. He wasn't entirely certain he could keep himself separate from Kavinsky and the boys on his own. He wasn't entirely certain he _wanted_ to keep himself separate from them. They were… Ronan combed his brain, but wound up stealing one of Gansey's words: _Fascinating_. K and Proko and Swan and Skov and Jiang were _fascinating_.

 

"Ronan?"

 

"Hmm?" It was a faint sound at best, hardly a true reply, muffled around leather.

 

A heavy sigh, and Gansey changed the subject: "Do we have their names, at least?"

 

At last, Ronan let his wrist fall, both hands resting behind him on the desk. "Just last names." It was a struggle to keep the bitterness from his voice. His scowl could cut glass.

 

"They all went to Aglionby, yes?" Gansey asked next, opening the sleek black laptop he kept for work. It chirped merrily as he logged on, as though it was happy to see him.

 

Probably, it was. Everything and everyone was happy to see Gansey. Even now, he was the golden boy. Ronan had always had a hard time holding back his jealousy, and when it reared its head now, he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep it at bay. Already, he tasted blood.  It was sobering, and Ronan pushed it aside, willing his head to clear. Oddly, it worked somewhat. Ronan Lynch was a creature of will, after all.

 

"You said they graduated the same year as us, didn't you?" Gansey was saying, oblivious to Ronan's blue-lightning stare as he opened his browser.

 

"K and Proko did," Ronan agreed. "I think Skov and Jiang were a year older. Swan's the baby."

 

Nodding, Gansey murmured, "It shouldn't be too hard to figure out who they are."

 

Over Gansey's shoulder, Ronan watched as the Aglionby website was pulled up, and Gansey clicked his way onto an online yearbook. "Oh," Gansey said, sounding faintly pleased as his eyes scanned the page. "He's already done it."

 

"Who's already done what?" Ronan asked, using the toe of one boot to pull open the bottom drawer of the desk, using it as a footrest.

 

"Henry has already changed your name on the Aglionby site." Gansey clicked on Ronan's photo, and sure enough, "It's just _Niall Lynch_ now. Unless they're very clever, Kavinsky's little pack shouldn't be able to connect the dots. You don't have an online presence, do you?"

 

"No." Of course he didn't. He didn't even have a Facebook account. Scrunching his eyebrows, Ronan asked, trying desperately to focus, "How'd he manage that?"

 

"You'd do better not to ask," Gansey said, and Ronan shivered at his tone. It was odd to hear Gansey sounding so sinister. Ronan blamed his reaction on the THC still pumping lazily through his blood. "Henry's craftier than you give him credit for."

 

Ronan had no great love for Henry Cheng, and so he didn't dignify that with a response.

 

Gansey raised a brow at him.  "Are you cognizant?" It was half a tease.

 

"Mostly."

 

 _Mostly_ was good enough, apparently. Reaching into the top drawer on the right side of his desk, Gansey pulled out a yellow legal pad. He grabbed a pencil next, from the shoddy mug Blue had made him, and he pushed it and the notepad at Ronan, saying, "Write the names down, won't you?"

 

"Dunno if I'm capable at this exact moment."

 

Gansey met Ronan's smile with a hesitant half-smile of his own, muttering, "Excuses, excuses." Once Ronan took the pad and pencil in hand, Gansey prompted, "Besides Kavinsky...?"

 

"Swan," was the first name to come to mind, and Ronan flushed a bit at the memory of his invitation. Ronan cursed himself for turning him down, and set to scribbling a flock of tiny ravens onto the top-right corner of the pad.

 

"Gabriel Swan," Gansey said after a few seconds and a few clicks of the mouse. Ronan took the name down on the legal pad, drawing a messy black swan beside it. The swan wasn't as legible as the ravens. Its legs were too long. It looked, in fact, like a very short flamingo, Ronan noted with an amused snort. "He was always with that big blonde, wasn't he?"

 

"Skov," Ronan nodded. "They're still together."

 

"That's adorable," Gansey replied, sounding surprisingly genuine, smiling as he pulled up another page. His smile quickly faded as his eyes searched the screen. "Blake Skovron?"

 

" _Skovron_?" Ronan tapped the pencil against his lower lip, gnawed on the eraser. It tasted like shit, leaving little pink shavings on his tongue. He spat onto the cheap linoleum floor, and Gansey shot a dirty look at him for it. "It's just _Skov_ , isn't it?"

 

Gansey shook his head, saying, "There's no one called _Skov_ on the website. Look." He pulled up this _Skovron_ person's picture, turning the laptop's screen toward Ronan. "Is this him?"

 

He was younger, his hair a more honeyed color than his current ice-blonde, his face softer, but it was undeniably Skov. "Yeah," Ronan said, and wrote down the name. There was nothing he could do to keep himself from blurting out, "Swan asked me to fuck around with 'em."

 

For a long moment, Gansey was silent. Then his face flushed, and he murmured softly, clearly mortified, " _Oh_." He cleared his throat. "That's... Nice. He's not really my type, but..." Gansey cleared his throat again, louder, more deliberate, and Ronan laughed at him.

 

"He's got a dick," Ronan mused, ever the wordsmith, "of course he's not your type."

 

Groaning, Gansey hid his face in his hands, though his ears were incredibly pink, and refused to be hidden.

 

"No dicks for Dick," Ronan laughed to himself, and Gansey groaned, though he was soon laughing, too.

 

"Exactly how high are you?" he asked, his voice muffled into his hands.

 

"Not very." Ronan petted Gansey's hair, the strands soft beneath his fingers. It was a ridiculous gesture he'd picked up from Noah. "You're just too easy."

 

"Well." Gansey let out a breath through his lips, sounding like a sputtering motor. It was a decidedly unflattering sound. It didn't suit him. He straightened up, patting his hair down and shooting Ronan a look of both irritation and amusement. "Who else?" he asked next, clearly desperate for a change of subject.

 

"Jiang," Ronan said. There was still laughter in his voice.

 

"I don't remember him," Gansey said, sounding a bit guilty. "Was he part of the Vancouver crowd? An exchange student?"

 

A shrug. "Kinda keeps to himself," Ronan said. "He's not bad-looking, but he's not really attention-grabbing, if you get what I mean. "He seems like the smartest of the lot, though."

 

"Jiang Jae-Woo," Gansey reported after a few seconds. He still sounded guilty, as if he expected himself to remember every one of their classmates.

 

"How do you spell that?"

 

Gansey spelled Jiang's full name out, then asked, "And the other? There were five, weren't there?"

 

Ronan smirked a bit when he hissed out, " _Proko_."

 

"Proko?"

 

" _Prokopenko_."

 

A nod, and Gansey set to typing. "Viktor Prokopenko," he said after a short search. "Viktor with a _K_ , not a _C_."

 

"Jealous li'l bitch," Ronan said, his smirk deadly sharp as he wrote, and Gansey raised a brow at him, curious and disapproving. "Long story."

 

"I assume he's the one who..." Gansey cleared his throat again, then took a sip from the coffee cup at his side. Ronan's coffee was untouched, probably lukewarm. The very thought of it was unappealing. He wanted Cheetos. "The one who was _laying claim_ to Kavinsky when you left?"

 

Another smirk, and Ronan agreed, "That's the one. Hates me already." There was pride in his voice.

 

"He'll probably be looking for a way to oust you from the group already, then," Gansey murmured, stroking his chin as an old professor would stroke his beard. It was a decidedly _old_ gesture. "Are we certain he doesn't recognize you? You're not exactly the sort to blend into the background."

 

"Yeah." Ronan tossed the pad and pencil aside, stretching his arms high over his head. His right shoulder gave a particularly satisfying _crack_ , and Gansey winced. "But Jiang knew I was Blue Toothing you. Don't think it's safe to do it again."

 

Gansey looked troubled, asking, "Then how am I meant to keep track of you?"

 

"I guess," Ronan said, half teasing, "you'll just have to trust me."

 

"I _do_ trust you," Gansey said, his words coming slow and careful, "but this crowd is bringing out the worst in you. They always have."

 

Ronan's eyes rolled. "I'll be fine, Gansey."

 

"Even on your own?"

 

To that, Ronan said nothing. The thought of lying to Gansey, of pretending he had this under control... He didn't like it.

 

Gingerly, Gansey asked, "How do you think Noah would have felt about this?"

 

A slow, hesitant smile came over Ronan's face, and he twisted at his ring, the gold glimmering in the harsh florescent light. "He woulda insisted on coming with me. This kinda thing woulda been right up his alley."

 

"Do you think he would have been worried?" Gansey asked next.

 

A huff, and Ronan said, "Oh, please. He never worried."

 

"He worried about _you_ ," Gansey softly said, "from time to time."

 

"But if he was with me," Ronan said, something in his voice going wistful, turning his eyes to the ceiling, hands resting behind him on the desk, "he'd've had no _reason_ to worry."

 

"True." Gansey sighed, giving a sad little smile of his own. "Just be careful, all right?" He reached out to touch Ronan's hand, soft fingertips to scarred knuckles. "Please. It was hard enough losing him. I can't lose you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys don't really remember the Pack, sorry. Thing is, in this AU, Ronan didn't get into trouble until a bit later in his life, post-Noah. As for Noah, though he's not really present, I will be using the living, hyper Noah, as opposed to the dead, overly chill Noah. There's not enough pre-death Noah out there
> 
> I'm a bit... Not so much bored, but not as excited to write chapters where the Pack aren't present. But they will be present next chapter, and we will, with luck, finally earn that explicit rating ;) Also, a very important character will make a very brief reappearance. I know people are excited to see what he's up to in this AU. It'll be a while longer before he true introduction, but you guys understand, I'm sure


	5. Did you Listen to Him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's drinking in this chapter, as well as non-penetrative sex. Plus, there's K's mouth, and that merits a warning all its own.

"Evening, gentlemen." There was something off-putting in Chief Gray's voice when Ronan and Gansey stepped into the quiet tranquility of his office the next night. Ronan was quick to write it off as his own paranoia. Getting into trouble wasn't as appealing when Noah wasn't there to make the punishments bearable. "Is your report ready?"

 

Gansey was the one to step forward, setting a file folder onto the Chief's desk. "I think we've included everything," he said, casting a quick glance over at his partner, "but if you have any questions, I'm sure Ronan can answer them."

 

"Very good." Taking the folder in hand, Gray thumbed through it.

 

On the other side of his desk, Ronan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his gaze darting over to where Gansey stood stock-straight beside him. He wasn't sure if Gansey had included the pot use in the report. It wouldn't be enough to boot him from the case, Ronan was fairly sure, but it could definitely get him into trouble with the boss. He hadn't been thinking when it happened, and he scolded himself for allowing himself to be so thoroughly entrenched in Kavinsky's world.

 

Already, he wanted to do it again.

 

"Lynch?"

 

Ronan's head jerked up at the sound of the Chief's voice. "Sir?" His own voice was soft.

 

"Is this the entirety of Kavinsky's inner circle?"

 

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Ronan said, steadier now, "As far as we know."

 

"It says here they were Aglionby students," Gray pointed out, his silvery eyes catching blue ones. "They don't recognize you?"

 

"No."

 

Gansey was quick to add, "We had Henry change a few things on the Aglionby webpage to keep them off, in case they did."

 

Nodding to himself, Gray murmured, "Good thinking."

 

"There was one hitch, though, sir."

 

"You mean the murder, or something else?" Gray didn't wait for a reply. "Did you find the body, at least?"

 

Looking a bit shamed, Gansey said, "No, sir. There were too many people around. It would have blown our cover for me to be seen poking around."

 

"I'll have Lynch and Cheng check in on it when they arrive," Gray allowed. "And this other hitch?"

 

"They realized that Ronan was Blue Toothing me," Gansey said, his gaze darting over to Ronan. "I'd rather not send him into that hornet's nest alone, but…"

 

"There's no other choice." Gray sat the file back down, though he kept it open on the desk. "Just make sure to keep on standby." His eyes, silver and sharp, blade-like, met hazel ones. "Gansey, I expect you to make your report for tonight's excursion tomorrow night." Silver met blue. "Lynch, this is an order: _Stay away from them_. Unless you're on duty, I don't want you anywhere near these men. I know you've got tomorrow off, but I expect you to obey just the same, understand?"

 

Scowling a bit, Ronan said nothing.

 

His mouth twisting in distaste, Gray said, "You can't actually _want_ to be involved with them." He seemed bothered when Ronan still offered no reply. "These people are murderers and thieves, Lynch. The scum of the Earth."

 

"Gansey's already given me this speech." It was mostly true.

 

"Did you listen to him?"

 

For a moment, Ronan was quiet. Then, he simply said, "We're gonna be late," and stalked out of the office, well aware of the fact that Gansey was staying behind. As he passed through the main space of the station, he made certain to leave his phone at the edge of his desk, where Gansey was sure to see it. Ignoring a pointed look from Carruthers, he made his way out to the lot, to where the BMW was parked. Without so much as a backward glance, he buckled in and sped off.

 

Being a Saturday, the streets were busier than they had been last night. Ronan tossed a glance down at the digital clock on the BMW's dash.

 

 **10:30**. He had half an hour before K and the boys would be expecting him.

 

Five minutes later, he pulled into the parking garage where the Lamborghini was waiting. He would have liked to have driven it to the station, but the risk was too high. If Kavinsky's pack of dogs saw it in the PD's lot...

 

Ronan shrugged the thought off as he climbed into the Aventador, pulling the scissor door down behind him.

 

A purr of the engine, a squeal of tires, and he was off once more, winding down the levels of the garage and out onto the street.

 

A few miles out, just into the industrial district, he caught a glimpse of angry orange in the rearview mirror. Gansey was following him. He hadn't even gotten the Lumina first. He must have been worried. Ronan ignored the little pang of guilt he felt over that and pulled up alongside the warehouse that acted as Kavinsky's base of operations.

 

Though he saw Gansey wave to him, trying to catch his attention, Ronan paid him no mind, and Gansey leant back against the brick of the warehouse, feigning nonchalance. He looked marginally more comfortable here than he had last night. Ronan just hoped he didn't get himself caught. Gansey wouldn't last five minutes in a fight with this crowd.

 

Ronan started a bit when Swan waved to him, calling, "Lynch!"

 

Tossing one last back at an increasingly nervous-looking Gansey, Ronan approached, asking, "What's up?"

 

"Racing!" Swan's enthusiasm was catchy, and Ronan gave a smile when Swan's arm wrapped around his. Swan's other arm held Skov to his side in the same manner, and over Swan's head, Skov nodded to Ronan in greeting.

 

Ronan nodded back. Then, he asked, "Where're the others?"

 

"'Round the lot, I think," Swan said with a shrug. "They just wrapped up a race."

 

Ronan's brows had drawn together at the third name, blotting out whatever Swan had said afterward, and he asked, " _Parrish_?"

 

"Oh, you haven't met him yet, have you?" When Ronan shook his head, Swan's smile widened. "He's _really_ pretty. Not my type _at all_ , but K's going _crazy_ trying to get in his pants." Almost to himself, he added, "Poor Proko..."

 

"Why does he even _put up_ with K?" The question was past Ronan's lips before it fully formed in his mind.

 

" _He's in love_." Skov rolled his eyes as he said it, clearly disapproving.

 

" _And you're not_?"

 

And there was Kavinsky, one arm draped around Jiang's shoulders, the other wound tight around Prokopenko's hips, his hand tucked into the smaller man's pocket. Ronan wondered if he was pickpocketing, or if he was just very handsy.

 

Behind them, hands in his own pockets, eyes scanning the crowd, was Adam Parrish.

 

Ronan did his best to pull his gaze to Kavinsky, watching as he placed himself before Skov, saying, " _Answer the question_." There was something dangerous in his eyes, in his voice, in his vicious smirk, and Prokopenko and Jiang both pulled themselves from his grip. Even Skov, who was a good half-foot taller, seemed a bit intimidated. "You aren't in love, Skov?"

 

"Not with you."

 

K's smile widened then, and he scoffed, "Don't think I believe that."

 

Judging by Skov's responding smile, he didn't quite believe it, either.

 

Slinging an arm around Ronan's shoulders, Kavinsky all but purred, " _Lynch_. Glad to see you made it."

 

Swan was soon between them, whirling Ronan in the other direction, so he was face-to-face with Parrish and his stormy eyes. "You two haven't met." They had, but Ronan wasn't fool enough to point it out. He was greatly relieved when Parrish didn't point it out, either. Swan pushed them closer together, and Ronan was a little impressed when Parrish didn't step back, only furrowing his eyebrows a bit. "Parrish, this is Lynch." Swan's smile was mischievous. "Lynch, Parrish."

 

Pursing his lips a bit, Ronan held out his hand with a bizarrely civil, "Nice to meet you."

 

It took Parrish a moment to react, and then he was shaking Ronan's hand, murmuring, "You're Aglionby, aren'cha?" He sounded vaguely disgusted, though his eyes were quickly warming from thundersnow to a summer shower.

 

"I was, yeah."

 

" _Right_." Looping an arm around Ronan's waist, Kavinsky said, "C'mon. We gotta talk." Ronan didn't bother to fight when K dragged him into the warehouse.

 

"He works for you?" Ronan asked as the heavy doors closed behind them.

 

" _Parrish_?" Kavinsky wrinkled his nose, and Ronan was surprised by how endearing it was. "He's our mechanic." Flopping down on the nearest of the collection of sofas in the center of the room, he added, clearly irritated, "He's nobody."

 

"You want him," Ronan pointed out, settling at his side and watching as a half-empty bottle of vodka was pulled from somewhere in the bottomless depths of the couch cushions.

 

A swig, and Kavinsky asked, "And you don't?"

 

Ronan shrugged. "He's pretty," was his only defense. It was entirely true.

 

"He's nothing special." Another swig, and K laughed when Ronan snatched the bottle away. "I could fuck him in the bed of that shitty Silverado any day."

 

Taking a long pull from the bottle, Ronan asked, "Would he want you to?"

 

"Consent is overrated."

 

" _Wow_." Ronan held the bottle out of Kavinsky's reach when he grabbed for it. "You're an asshole."

 

That wicked smile was back, and Ronan yelped when K grabbed at the belt loops of his jeans, jerking him closer, sprawled on his back with K poised above him, caged between his spread thighs. "But you're still gonna let me fuck you."

 

It was entirely true, and Ronan took a long swallow of vodka to steel himself when Kavinsky's chilled hands slid beneath his shirt. " _Asshole_." His voice was softer than he'd heard in ages, and Kavinsky silenced him with a rough kiss, all tongue and clashing teeth. Already, Ronan felt his body responding, and a soft moan caught in his throat.

 

"Shut up and listen." To Kavinsky's surprise, Ronan followed the command, gazing up at him with dark eyes. "I'm gonna make you an offer, and you're gonna accept it, understand?" He didn't wait for a reply. "I want you running with us. That li'l Lambo's gotta be _ridiculously_ fast, and you're better off with us than the others."

 

"The others?"

 

" _Shut up_." It was a command, and Ronan shivered when Kavinsky pulled back, suddenly faced with his own reflection in those mirror-dark sunglasses. Kavinsky reared a bit when Ronan snatched them off, flinging them across the room, where they skidded beneath another sofa. K looked more impressed than angry, giving a soft snort. "Those shades cost more than you."

 

"You don't know how much I cost." The words came on a sneer.

 

" _Two bits_ , I bet."

 

Ronan did nothing to deny it, instead rolling his hips up against K's, shivering when deft fingers undid the button and fly of his jeans, a cool hand palming his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

 

" _Cheap as Hell_." One hand gripped Ronan's hip, pinning him down, the other beside his head, and Kavinsky leaned in, pressed chapped lips to the hollow of Ronan's throat. When pale hands fisted in his hair, the vodka bottle _clink_ ing to the floor, K's lips parted, biting down, and Ronan gave a choked moan beneath him. Pulling back and licking his lips, Kavinsky asked, "You like that?"

 

Those brilliant eyes, lust-dark midnight blue, rolled. " _Obviously_." It came on a snarl, hands fisting in spiked hair and yanking Kavinsky down again. When their hips meet, denim on silk, hot and hard even through the fabric, Ronan muffled a needy moan into Kavinsky's hair.

 

"You join us, you'll get a Hell of a lot more than this."

 

Another hard nip to his throat, and Ronan tossed his head back, a growl forcing its way past his lips, his hands slipping down to K's hips, using his hold as leverage and grinding up against him. He could feel the heat of blood pooling beneath the skin; There would be a vicious hickey left over, he was sure of it. He'd wear it with pride. "K?"

 

" _What_?"

 

"Kiss me again."

 

A smirk, and Kavinsky asked, "Kinda desperate, aren'cha?"

 

Though Ronan was hesitant to admit it, he heard himself say, "It's been a while."

 

Shrugging, Kavinsky replied, "It's kinda hot." Then his mouth was on Ronan's, his hand sliding from Ronan's hip to his ass, drawing their hips closer together and rutting hard against him. The hands in his hair were slipping downward, calloused fingertips snaking up beneath his shirt to stroke at his lower back, and Kavinsky gave a soft sigh into Ronan's mouth.

 

Then Kavinsky's mouth was at his throat again, licking and sucking and nipping hard. Ronan was sure he must have broken the skin by now. In the darkest part of his mind, Ronan hoped he _had_ , willing K to break him open, suck him dry, crawl into the husk.

 

That thought was enough to end him, and Ronan's hips bucked against Kavinsky's as he came, K's name on his lips.

 

" _Easy_."

 

Ronan couldn't tell if it was meant to be an insult or comfort, and he shivered when K pulled back.

 

Pushing Ronan's shirt up to expose his chest, Kavinsky undid the button and zipper of his own jeans, pulling his cock free and giving it a fond squeeze. "Look at me." It was a command, and he shivered a bit when Ronan followed it. "Good boy." Then it was Ronan shivering. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, mouth pink, a lovely bruise blossoming at the hollow of his throat. K pressed his cock against the still-twitching bulge beneath Ronan's boxers, and Ronan arched against it. "How did it feel?"

 

Ronan's lips pursed, indignant, and Kavinsky rolled his eyes, taking his cock in hand and giving it a few rough strokes, hard and fast, and Ronan felt his mouth go dry.

 

"Bit late to be playing the prude, don'cha think?"

 

" _Fuck you_."

 

Ronan looked gorgeous, bare-chested and angry, his eyes blazing, and Kavinsky hissed when he came, spattering white over flushed skin.

 

Wrinkling his nose, Ronan all but demanded, "Was that really necessary?"

 

"'Course it was." Slotting two soiled fingers into Ronan's mouth, Kavinsky shivered at the press of teeth and the fiery glare Ronan fixed on him. "You keep looking at me like that, babe, and I'll put Proko out on the streets where he belongs." Flushing, eyes wide, Ronan pulled back, though K caught him with a rough hand at the back of his neck, dragging him close for another kiss, Ronan craning his neck and propping up on one elbow to reach him, his opposite hand tangling into dark hair again.

 

"K?"

 

Rolling his eyes and reluctantly pulling away from Ronan's mouth, Kavinsky tucked himself back into his jeans. Straightening, Ronan still caught between his thighs, he glanced toward the door, asking, "You need something, Parrish?"

 

At the name, Ronan sat bolt-upright, uncaring of his current state, and Parrish raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"Did we miss the action?" Swan sounded distinctly disappointed as he and the rest of the boys entered, though his eyes were dark as they roved Ronan's exposed chest, still streaked with white. Skov didn't seem to mind. "What a shame."

 

Grabbing a grease-streaked rag off the floor and wiping himself off as best he could, Ronan muttered, "Shut up, Swan."

 

K's eyes rolled again, though he was smirking this time, and he leaned over Ronan to grab the forgotten vodka bottle off the floor, taking a long swig from it. His hips were still pressed to Ronan's. "Wha'did you want, Parrish?"

 

Those stormy eyes darted to Kavinsky, and Parrish said, "Just saying we now own a Maserati."

 

"A _Maserati_?" Dark eyes going wide, nearly choking on a mouthful of alcohol, Kavinsky asked, "How the fuck did you manage that?"

 

And then there was something sharp in Parrish's eyes, lighting behind the clouds, and he said, "The Mitsu."

 

"That even _possible_?"

 

"I'm a better driver than the other guy was," Parrish said with a shrug.

 

Taking another swig, K asked, "Who the Hell gave you my keys?"

 

Settling at the arm of the sofa where K and Ronan were splayed out, Prokopenko said, "Serves you right for fucking around with _him_." _Him_ was obviously Ronan, and Proko was glaring at him _hard_. "You're s'posta be fucking _me_."

 

Sitting up, flashing a smirk over his shoulder, Kavinsky asked, "That right?"

 

"'Course it is."

 

"Then get your ass outside." At Proko's raised eyebrow, K added, "I'm gonna fuck you over the hood of the Maserati."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we've finally earned that E rating! And Adam is finally making his way into the story! I know a lot of you guys have been waiting for both of these things, so! :)
> 
> And there's more jealous Proko, which is something I personally can't get enough of
> 
> Oh, and in case it wasn't obvious, the reason Ronan is off the next day is that it's Sunday. Church day. Meaning more Declan and an appearance from Matthew! Mattie only makes a few appearances in this fic, but he's rather important
> 
> One last note: Remember the Prokopinsky bit at the end of chapter three? In case you guys haven't seen it, I'm now doing a drabble-collection fic called A Pack of Wild Beasts, where you can find a continuation of it, as well as other Dream Pack shorts!


	6. Gospel Side

It was more audacity than nonchalance that tempted Ronan into leaving the topmost button of his shirt undone for church the following morning. The white fabric framed the lovely red-black-violet bruising at the base of his throat quite well. If anyone bothered to look closely, they could see the imprint of Kavinsky's teeth still pressed into the skin.

 

Surprised by his own daring, Ronan found himself wearing the mark as a badge of pride, intentionally keeping his collar open, even when the communion had stepped forward to partake of the body and blood of Christ.

 

K would have been immensely proud.

 

Declan, of course, was not.

 

He had, at least, the grace to wait until after the service to bring it up.

 

"What the Hell happened to you?" He kept his voice soft, grabbing at Ronan's wrist as he turned to leave the church, dragging him back to one of the pews. At his other side, Ashley was leaning forward a bit, just enough to see what the fuss was about, one pink-nailed hand braced on her swollen belly. The baby would arrive by the end of the month, everyone was certain.

 

Ronan shot her a glare. It had been far easier to put up with her and her artless ignorance when Noah was around. Noah had liked her just fine. Noah liked most everyone just fine. Ronan found himself briefly wondering if Noah would have liked K. His heart sank a bit when he realized he probably wouldn't have.

 

Rolling his eyes at Ronan's stubborn silence, Declan asked again, more forcefully, " _What happened to you_?"

 

Ronan's eyes met Declan's, brilliant blue on brilliant blue, challenging. It was one of the few things the Lynch brothers all had in common: Those fierce, piercing eyes. Still, Ronan said nothing.

 

Carefully, Declan reached out, tugging the collar of Ronan's shirt down just the slightest bit, and Ashley gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. Ronan rolled his eyes at her.

 

The mark had become darker overnight, the center violet-black, red fanning out around the edges, the indentations of K's teeth still perfectly visible and nearly white. It was still sore, still _throbbing_ , and it took all the willpower Ronan had to keep from idly pressing his fingers into it. This wasn't the place to think about such things. This wasn't the place to think about chapped lips at his throat, or calloused hands at his hips, or spiked hair tangled around his own fingers.

 

Ronan knew it well, but his subconscious seemed to disagree, pushing his thoughts to the warehouse, to the cars, to K himself. Ronan bit down on the inside of his cheek, willing the thoughts away, but the taste of his own blood in his mouth did the exact opposite of help.

 

"Ronan?"

 

Ronan, of course, ignored the call, lifting his hand to his mouth, gnawing at the bands around his wrist. The taste of the leather, tainted with gasoline and cologne, was incredibly grounding.

 

" _Ronan_." His brow furrowed in a remarkable imitation of concern, Declan asked, " _Who did this_?"

 

Meeting Declan's confused, concerned look with a scathing glare, Ronan hissed, "None of your business."

 

"You're my brother," was Declan's argument. It had ceased being valid years ago, though he had never ceased in using it. It did nothing but serve to make Ronan more irritated. Declan had given up his elder brother privileges when he'd decided to be a father figure. He wasn't very good at it. Of course, Ronan had been a pretty shitty father figure, too, and he idly found himself wondering if the new baby would be as fucked up as the rest of the family. He hoped not. With luck, the kid would take after Matthew, though the Lynches had always been short on luck. "Of course it's my business."

 

"Since when is it your business who I fuck?"

 

"Watch your mouth."

 

It wasn't because they were in a church, Ronan knew. Declan cared for church about as much as Ronan did, which was near to not at all. Both of them had fallen from grace, as it were, upon their father's death.

 

Matthew hadn't.

 

Quite the opposite, in fact.

 

A few pews down the aisle, not far from the altar, young Father Lynch stood, smiling and proud in his long black robe. He had one hand resting lightly upon the shoulder of a middle-aged woman, who smiled at him apologetically as she spoke.

 

Ronan assumed the child clinging stubbornly to his brother's hand was hers.

 

A smile, a few soft words, and Matthew ushered the boy into his mother's arms, waving as they made their way out of the church.

 

Upon glancing back, Matthew caught sight of his brothers, smiling, though he was quick to shake hands with an elderly patron of the church. Neither Ronan nor Declan faulted him for it. There was the man's wife next, then another woman in an enormous hat, and a skinny teenage boy with a pimpled face and knobby hands.

 

Every handshake sent Matthew's long sleeves riding up, revealing the multitude of colored bands around his wrists, a bright parody of the ever-present leather strands that hid Ronan's scars from view. They were friendship bracelets, gifts made by the Sunday school and the Bible school kids and the community center kids. Ronan smiled.

 

The kids adored Matthew, and rightly so. He was a wonderful father figure to them, kind and caring and loveable. Ronan was almost jealous of how utterly _good_ Matthew was. He could never hope to even be half as good as his little brother.

 

He could never hope to even be half as good a father as his little brother.

 

Opal was a testament to that, and Ronan did his best to shove the thought of her aside.

 

It was a good five minutes before Matthew finally made his way back to his brothers, still beaming with joy and pride, the church open and quiet and empty around them. Even the choir had left.

 

There was only Matthew, and it was incredibly obvious that he _belonged_ here, in this temple of virtue.

 

He was the only one of Niall Lynch's sons who had turned out good and God-fearing.

 

Declan was a liar and a cheat.

 

Ronan was an all-around fuck-up.

 

Matthew was son who was the least like his father, and that was a miracle.

 

He hugged Ronan first, chirping, "Hey, Ro," before he pulled back and took notice of the bruising at his elder brother's throat. "Whoa."

 

"It's not a big deal." Ronan wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not.

 

"Just the same." Matthew reached up then, carefully doing up the top button of his brother's shirt, hiding the bruise from prying eyes, though he was rather late. It was the thought that counted, Ronan supposed with a wry half-smile.

 

When Matthew turned to hug Declan, Ronan undid the button again.

 

Crossing into the row of pews in front of the one where his brothers sat, Matthew reached out to press a hand to Ashley's distended belly, and they beamed at each other like idiots.

 

"How much longer's it gonna be?" Matthew asked, grinning from ear to ear, and Ronan struggled to fight back a smile of his own. He wouldn't give Ashley the satisfaction of seeing him smile.  "I can't wait to meet her!"

 

"She should be here by the end of the month," Ashley said, her smile brilliant, wrapped in bright lipstick.

 

"Did you ever decide on a name?" Matthew asked next, still smiling. His smile was better than Ashley's by far, Ronan thought.

 

"Well, Declan likes _Saoirse_ ," Ashley said, struggling to pronounce the name. "I like Emily."

 

"There're a hundred girl in this city alone named _Emily_ ," Ronan didn't hesitate to point out, the name coming out on a derisive sneer. "Saoirse's the obvious choice. "

 

For a moment, Declan met Ronan's eyes, and Matthew's smile grew. It was a rare treat to see his older brothers agreeing.

 

Again, Ashley said, " _I like Emily_."

 

Matthew's smile faded as Ronan's middle finger rose, and he reached out to clasp his brother's hand in his own, easing that finger back down, surprised when Ronan gave an amused little snort at him. "Be holy," was all the youngest Lynch had to say.

 

"Whatever name we go with," Ashley said, relaxing into Declan's side, "we're both thrilled." She tossed a proud glance up at her husband.

 

Ronan was quick to note that Declan looked away.

 

When Matthew's attention returned to Ronan, he actually had the audacity to smile over the once-more undone button at the top of Ronan's shirt. "Who was it, anyway?" he asked, indicating the bruising at the base of Ronan's throat. "A potential boyfriend?" He seemed immensely pleased with the idea. He just wanted Ronan to be happy. He wanted everyone to be happy, and he would do whatever he could to help.

 

He was a sweet boy, and it physically pained Ronan to admit, "Not exactly."

 

Lips pursing, brows drawing together, Matthew said, "I thought you hated the idea of casual sex."

 

"Usually, I do," Ronan agreed.

 

There was a pause, then Matthew sat, still turned backwards. Crossing his arms over the back of the bench, chin pillowed against his wrists, he murmured, "This guy must be pretty special."

 

"He's a criminal," Declan said, and Matthew's wide, innocent eyes went wider. Ashley didn't seem surprised in the slightest. He'd probably already told her all about it.

 

Ronan hissed, "Asshole." He wasn't sure if it was aimed at Declan or Ashley. It applied to both of them, he supposed.

 

"Is it for an assignment?" Matthew asked when neither of his brothers elaborated.

 

Though Ronan still refused to speak, his sullen silence spoke volumes.

 

When Declan spoke next, his words for Ronan instead of Matthew, he said, "I know this is an important case, but if you're letting these guys get this close to you..."

 

Ronan's glare could cut diamonds. _Be holy_ , he told himself, though it did little good. He lifted his hands to the back of the bench where Matthew was sitting, gripping the old wood _hard_. **_Be holy_**.

 

Declan was not deterred, the stubborn asshole. Instead, he pressed on, saying, "You need Gansey working closer with you."

 

There was venom in Ronan's voice when he replied, "I can handle it."

 

"I don't--"

 

Ronan's nails were digging furrows into the wood of the bench before him, and he all but growled, " _I can handle it, Declan_."

 

"How do you think Dad would have felt about this?" Even sweet, naïve Matthew realized that that was going too far, and he reached over the back of the pew to touch Ronan's arm, half to soothe him, half to hold him back. "He was into the same stuff, and look where it landed him."

 

 _I'm not like him_ , Ronan almost said. It was a lie, locked behind lips and teeth and tongue. All he could manage was, "I'm not gonna end up the way he did."

 

"I think you should visit Mom." It was Matthew, his hand tightening around Ronan's upper arm, insistent. There was something like concern in his eyes. It looked wrong on someone as carefree as he usually was. "She's the one who got him out of it."

 

"What's it matter that she got him out of it?" Ronan felt a pang of guilt when Matthew flinched at the bitterness in his voice, but he didn't take the words back. He was pleasantly surprised when Matthew didn't pull his hand away. Growing up with Ronan's mood swings had toughened him up a bit. "He still wound up dead."

 

It was Ashley's hand at Declan's arm, mirroring Matthew's posturing with Ronan, that kept Declan from lashing out, verbally or otherwise. Instead, he stood, ushering Ashley around the other end of the pew, and she followed him to the wide-open doors that led outside. They stopped just before they stepped out, and Declan called to Ronan, "I'd really rather not bury another member of my family."

 

And then he was gone, Ashley following obediently behind him without so much as a glance back at her brothers-in-law.

 

"Asshole," Ronan said again.

 

"He's just trying to help," Matthew pointed out, and, strangely, Ronan believed it. He would believe anything that Matthew said, to tell it true.  

 

"I don't need help." It was mostly true. "Especially not from him."

 

"I think," Matthew said, softly, gingerly, "you really should go see Mom."

 

To that, Ronan said nothing, though he was careful not to meet his brother's eyes, arms crossed defensively over his chest despite the hand Matthew still had at his arm. The flesh beneath his fingernails was sore, and two of them were bloody. He idly popped one into his mouth.

 

"It'd do you good," Matthew continued, still soft, still gentle. He was as stubborn as his brothers, though he was far less overbearing about it. _Persistent_ was a better word for him. _Stubborn_ was too negative-sounding for someone so utterly positive. He gently pulled Ronan's hand away from his mouth. "I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."

 

Though it was reluctant, Ronan smiled a bit at that.

 

"And, y'know..."

 

The smile faded almost instantly. Ronan knew where this was going, and he let out a heavy sigh.

 

"I'm sure Opal would like to see you, too."

 

A scoff, then, "She hates me."

 

"She doesn't hate you, Ronan."

 

"Yeah, I guess not. She barely knows me." Ronan glanced down, slipping two fingers beneath the bands at his wrist. "I abandoned her. She was barely a year old, and I walked out on her."

 

"For her own good," Matthew said, as he had a million times before. He would say it a million times more, Ronan was sure.

 

"I could have taken care of her."

 

Very gently, Matthew said, "No, you couldn't have."

 

It was the truth. After Niall's death, Ronan had been a mess. Gansey had picked him up and dusted him off, and Noah had brought him back to life. After Noah's death, Ronan had all but died himself. He'd have taken Opal six feet under with him if he hadn't given her to his mother. It had been for her own good, it was true, but Ronan doubted he would ever stop feeling guilty over it. He doubted Opal would ever forgive him for it. He doubted Opal would ever even want to _know_ him.

 

" _Ronan_." Matthew said his name the way Gansey did: As if it were precious. The hand at Ronan's arm tightened, rucking up the white cotton of his shirt. "I'm worried about you."

 

At last, Ronan met his brother's eyes, the same shade of blue, bright as flame. "You don't need to worry about me, Mattie." _First time for everything_ , Ronan told himself. _K would be so proud_. "I'm fine." The lie sat foul on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Ashley. And her terrible taste in names. I intend no offense to people named Emily, of course. My best friend is actually called Emily.
> 
> But we got Declan in this chapter! And Matthew! Yes, sweet Mattie is a priest in this AU. It feels fitting, and it becomes somewhat of a plot point later on, so.
> 
> Oh, but let's play a game! Can you guys guess whether or not Declan is faithful to Ashley in this AU? I'll give you a hint: It plays into the plot, too :)
> 
> Next chapter: Ronan pays a visit to his mama :) Also Opal. Which is far less worthy of a smiley face, trust me. Gonna be an angsty good time


	7. Máthair Aurora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurora was hesitant to let Ronan go, as she always was, pulling back only to rest her pretty hands at his shoulders, her eyes dropping to the bruise at the hollow of his throat. "That's a pretty necklace you're wearing today."

"Oh, my wild boy." Aurora Lynch's voice was sunshine given to sound, her smile wide and dazzling. She had stepped onto the front porch the moment she'd heard a familiar BMW purr its way into the driveway.

 

Ronan gladly joined her in the open doorway.

 

When she pulled Ronan into a hug, he gratefully returned it, his hands fisting in the silken material at the small of her back.

 

"Hey, Mom." His voice was soft, unguarded. Aurora was one of the only people who had ever heard him like that. It was a secret in and of itself, kept under lock and key.

 

She was hesitant to let him go, as she always was, pulling back only to rest her pretty hands at his shoulders, her eyes dropping to the hollow of his throat. "That's a pretty necklace you're wearing today."

 

Though his smile remained as he stepped into the house, Ronan rolled his eyes.

 

"He must like you quite a lot," Aurora said as she closed the door behind her son, her own smile spreading. She clicked the door shut, leaning back against it. The rich wood made her look lovely: An inlay of gold and ivory and silk. "It must have cost quite a bit of precious time..."

 

"Enough, Mom." Kneeling to unlace his shoes, Ronan cast his gaze up at his mother, a little smirk quirking up one side of his mouth. " _Behave_."

 

She laughed at him, high and sweet and nothing short of perfect. She sounded like a songbird. If only her sons were more like their angel of a mother and less like their charming scoundrel of a father.

 

There was nothing to be done about it, Ronan decided as he stood, toeing off his shoes. He did so with great care, so as to not scuff the shiny leather. They were his best shoes. How he hated them.

 

"Did you come straight from church?" Aurora asked, draping an arm around his shoulders and leading him into the kitchen.

 

"Yeah." It was obvious, of course: Ronan hated suits, yet there he was, dressed to the nines, in a charcoal gray three-piece suit that he loathed with every fiber of his being. Such attire was only to be worn for church. Though Ronan had, for years now, decked himself out in button-ups and nice jeans and expensive boots, he could never bear to be suited daily, as Declan did. The only thing that made suit days bearable were Ronan's exhaustively collected number of obnoxiously bright ties. Most of them were blue. Noah had once told him that blue made his eyes stand out.

 

Grabbing a pair of tall drinking glasses from one of the white-painted cabinets, Aurora asked over her shoulder, "How is Matthew?"

 

" _Grand_." It came out sounding strangely bitter.

 

"As always," Aurora said with a smile, reaching into the stainless steel refrigerator to retrieve a pitcher of lemonade-- Homemade, of course. She detested the canned, concentrated variety. So did her boys. She had ruined them for premade foods, save Matthew. Matthew would eat anything.

 

Clearly hesitant to say so, Ronan admitted, "He's the one who said I should see you, actually." There was no hiding secrets from his mother. She knew him far too well for that.

 

"God forbid you visit me of your own volition!" Aurora's laughter was contagious, and Ronan gave a hesitant little smile. Religion had never been his mother's strong suit. The Barns was Aurora Lynch's church. She worshipped her husband and her sons and her granddaughter. There was no higher power than them. "But, you know, he never sends you to me without reason."

 

Ronan's smile fell, though he said nothing.

 

" _Ronan_." Aurora had never been able to sound truly _stern_ , but her current tone was close. "What have you been up to?"

 

"He's just worried."

 

It was a cop-out, but it wasn't an outright lie. Not technically. Aurora saw through it. She always did.

 

"There's only one thing he ever worries about," she pointed out. It wasn't an accusation, though. _It was a fact_.

 

Again, Ronan was silent.

 

The sink against the opposite wall _drip-drip-dripped_ in the silence. Ronan made a mental note to fix it before he left.

 

The silence dragged on.

 

It was useless to push him, Aurora knew, and she stifled a sigh. "How is Declan?" she asked instead.

 

The sound that Ronan gave at his elder brother's name was somewhere between an irritated groan and the sound made by a dying hippopotamus.

 

"I do wish you two got along better," Aurora softly said, pressing a chilled glass of lemonade into her middle son's hand.

 

"Can't be helped," Ronan replied, leaning back against the countertop and taking a sip of lemonade. It was delicious, as always.

 

"You've always been so stubborn," Aurora breathed, pensive and dreamy.

 

"So has he," was Ronan's reply. It was a sound defense, and Aurora let the subject drop.

 

Mirroring her son's posturing, though it looked rather ridiculous on her, Aurora glanced down at the hickey at the base of his throat, asking, "Are you finally moving on?"

 

"From what?" Ronan feared he already knew the reply.

 

" _Noah_." Aurora spoke his name like a prayer, something immaterial kept close for comfort. She had adored Noah. _Everyone_ had.

 

Ronan answered, truthfully, "Doubt it."

 

Aurora's smooth brow furrowed a bit, and she prompted, "Then...?"

 

"It's for an assignment," Ronan said.

 

"Do they have you luring in johns?"

 

Ronan snorted, and Aurora gave him a warm smile in return. She was one of the few people who could amuse him. She was also one of the _fewer_ people who he _allowed to know_ that they could amuse him. "They've actually got me undercover," he told her.

 

"With who?"

 

Though Ronan opened his mouth to answer, it was a long time coming, and it eventually came out as, " _Opal_."

 

She stood half-hidden in the doorway, her eyes dark and inquisitive.

 

Ronan wondered for a long moment if she even recognized him. It was hard to look at her, as much as she looked like Noah, and he tended to visit only rarely. The last visit had been nearly six months ago, around Christmastime.

 

She had grown so much since then. Ronan's heart was aching in his chest.

 

Tossing her dark gaze up at Aurora, seeking reassurance and seemingly finding it, Opal stepped into the room. She had Noah's fair hair and his dark eyes and his way of moving even when she was standing perfectly still. She'd gotten those things from Adele, it was true, but all Ronan saw when he looked at Opal was Noah, _Noah_ , **_Noah_**. It _hurt_ to look at her.

 

When she was older, Ronan hoped, _prayed_ , she would understand.

 

Carefully kneeling, his lemonade abandoned on the counter, Ronan said, "Hey, kid."

 

Opal's smile was soft and wary, but she stepped closer just the same.

 

Even as he knelt, he was taller than her. She was small for a five-year-old, tiny and rail-thin, though she ate nearly non-stop, and not all of her favorite foods were things meant to be eaten. From what Ronan understood, though, Noah and his sisters had also been small and exceedingly strange. Noah hadn't even grown out of his strangeness. It wasn't cause for concern.

 

Opal's silence, though...

 

"Still not gonna talk to me?"

 

Though Opal moved closer, she shook her head.

 

"Can't say I blame you." Opal stopped a foot before Ronan, and he carefully traced his knuckles over her cheek. She had a faint dusting of freckles. They must have come from her biological father, whoever he was. Ronan doubted they would ever know. He supposed, when it came down to it, it wasn't important. He was a shitty father, it was true, but _he_ _was Opal's father_. She was his, and she was Noah's, and that was all there was to it. "'M not much of a talker myself."

 

Opal's smile was almost relieved, and she stepped closer to pet his shorn hair.

 

The gesture was painfully reminiscent of Noah, and Ronan smiled, too. "How's she been?" Though the question was for Aurora, Ronan kept his eyes on Opal. She'd shifted her attention to his hands, pressing her palms to his.

 

"Oh, very well." There was something wistful in Aurora's voice.

 

"She's gotta be starting kindergarten soon, yeah?"

 

"In the fall, yes." The wistfulness was gone, replaced with concern. "If she isn't speaking by then, I may have to teach her from here."

 

Gingerly, Ronan closed his fingers over Opal's hands, nearly all-encompassing. Then he asked of his mother, "D'you think she'll ever speak?"

 

"In due time," Aurora said, using the doctor's words.

 

To that, Ronan said nothing, watching as Opal stared at their joined hands.

 

Glancing up at him for just an instant, she turned their hands around, pressing her little elfin mouth to his knuckles before she scampered off, darting behind Aurora, her little hands fisted in her makeshift mother's long skirt.

 

Smiling, Aurora ran her fingers through the girl's pale honey-blonde hair.

 

For a moment, idle and happy, Ronan found himself wondering where Opal had picked up the gesture she'd just used on him. She had been tiny the last time she would have seen him do it: A few nights before the accident that had been the end of Noah. It seemed impossible that she would remember such a thing, but it had never been a gesture of Aurora's, and there was something strangely _knowing_ in Opal's eyes. Had she somehow, in their few meetings, picked it up _from him_?

 

Ronan stood, his own smile stubbornly refusing to leave his face.

 

Handing the abandoned glass of lemonade back to her son, Aurora gently nudged both him and Opal in the direction of the living room.

 

A few moments later, the three of them settled onto the worn leather sofa, Aurora and Ronan on the ends, Opal settled between them, fidgety as ever. She detested sitting still, the same as Noah had. The same as Ronan _did_.

 

Soothing Opal as best she could, Aurora eventually said to Ronan, "You never said who you were undercover with."

 

Ronan's hesitance had her lifting one brow in confusion and concern.

 

"With who, Ronan?"

 

"Street racers."

 

Aurora sighed, long and deep. "You just can't stay out of it, can you?" There was no judgement in her voice, only wariness. "Even after your father?"

 

"No." It sounded faint and half-hearted.

 

"Even after Noah?"

 

"Noah was an accident." Truth be told, it wasn't. It hadn't been an accident. Ronan had seen it himself. But the newspapers had called it an accident, a tragedy, _a young man with so much potential killed before his time_ , his Mustang crumpled around him like a heap of blood-colored crepe paper. Did it still count as a lie, if it was regarded by the public as the truth? "It's not the same."

 

Again, Aurora sighed, and when Ronan met her gaze, she held it.

 

"What did Dad do to deserve it, anyway?"

 

He'd asked often.

 

So had his brothers.

 

The question hurt nearly as badly as the answer did, and Aurora looked away, hugging Opal to her side as the girl fiddled with a loose seam at the back of the couch, her long legs tucked beneath her.

 

"He was out," Ronan was saying, his brows drawn together. He had his shoulders hunched, knees spread, elbows resting on them, his hands busy with twisting his wedding band, the gold bright and pretty against the delicate ivory of his skin. He looked like a very young, very angry version of his father. "He'd been out for almost a year." There was a dark emotion of some sort in Ronan's voice, and he was doing very little to hide it. "Why did they kill him?"

 

For a long time, Aurora was silent, looking anywhere but at Ronan. Eventually, she said, her voice soft, "Because he was in too deep. He didn't get out in time to save himself."

 

When she reached for Ronan's hand, her wedding ring _clink_ ed against his.

 

Her eyes met his, and she said, quiet and earnest, "Be sure you get out in time, Ronan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aurora's hippie-dippy way of talking is really, really hard to write, yikes! The title of the chapter is a reference to her, too: Mother Aurora.
> 
> But, oh, I'm so glad Opal was around for this chapter! We'll learn more about her as time goes on, I promise! 
> 
> Oh, oh! And next chapter: Adam. I know you guys are looking forward to seeing more of him, and more you shall have :)


	8. Goings-on in Dark Alleys

Monday night's assignment came as a blessing.

 

Sundays always left Ronan anxious, pent-up, itching for a fight or a fuck. Either would do; He wasn't picky.

 

He'd settled for the former for years, but with K around, it would be easy to get both. Ronan just had to find him first.

 

The tension in him was too tight to ignore much longer, and Ronan stepped out of the Aventador and into the muggy night.

 

The gasoline-drenched midnight air around Kavinsky's warehouse was far preferable to the incense of the church or the grass-lemon-boxwood scent of the Barns, Ronan thought. He was immensely grateful that Matthew and Aurora and Opal would never see him in a place like this. They would be so disappointed.

 

Swallowing down a pang of guilt, Ronan glanced through the crowd. It was bigger tonight than it had been even on Saturday. There was clearly an important race in the works: The Mitsubishi and the Maserati stood side-by-side at the center of the road, revving their engines. The sound sent a hot little thrill racing down Ronan's spine.

 

Of all K's boys, Swan was the easiest to pick out, tiny and gorgeous, a few feet away, standing beside the Maserati. There was something inherently sexual about the way he stood, bent over at the waist, his crossed arms resting along the car's open window, narrow shoulders pushed forward, staring down at the driver with bright, half-lidded eyes.

 

The driver was, of course, Skov, leaning out the window for just a moment, grabbing at the collar of Swan's shirt and pulling him down for a kiss that the other eagerly returned, dark fingers tangling into ice-blonde hair.

 

Jiang was standing between the Maserati and Kavinsky's Mitsubishi, his phone in his hand, talking with the evening's drivers, though neither of them seemed to be paying him much mind. He didn't seem to care much, either, fiddling with his phone as he spoke. The engines' roaring drowned his words out.

 

Ronan was certain it didn't matter: They'd most likely heard the speech a million times over.

 

Prokopenko wasn't far off, on the other side of the Mitsubishi, his colorless eyes on K's, his arms around Kavinsky's shoulders, their hips pressed together, lips brushing as they spoke. Kavinsky had his calloused hands tucked neatly into the back pockets of Proko's jeans, keeping him close.

 

Ronan idly wondered if K got off on the races. He didn't doubt it.

 

K, of course, noticed his stare, tossing a nod to Ronan over the Mitsubishi's roof before he pulled away from Prokopenko and slid into the driver's seat.

 

The glare Proko gave Ronan over that was nothing short of _ferocious_ , and Ronan was a bit ashamed of how much he liked being looked at like that. He gave Proko a suggestive lift of his eyebrows, nearly laughing out loud when Prokopenko's nose wrinkled in childlike disgust.

 

At a call from Jiang, Prokopenko and Swan both fell back to the opposite side of the road while Jiang called out the race, pocketing his phone and lifting his arms high above his head, glancing from one driver to the other.

 

A smirk from Kavinsky, and a sharpening of Skov's green-ice eyes, and Jiang let his arms fall: _Go_.

 

Two pairs of tires smoked as the Mitsubishi and the group's newly-attained Maserati screamed away.

 

It was a thing of beauty, that car, and for just an instant, Ronan was jealous. Then he thought of the gorgeous little Lamborghini he'd driven there, and scoffed at himself. _Envy is a sin_ , he heard Matthew's voice say. _What **isn't** a sin_? Ronan heard his own voice reply. He and Matthew had had that conversation too many times to count.

 

"Lynch."

 

That new voice was less familiar, distinctly not sounding from inside his mind, and Ronan glanced to the space beside the warehouse door.

 

Half-hidden in shadow, his eyes sharp and clear, stood Adam Parrish.

 

"What?" It was half a demand, and Parrish didn't back down from it.

 

"We need to talk."

 

"Bit early in the relationship for that, isn't it?"

 

Parrish's confused expression was strangely cute, lips pursed, one brow lifted. His eyes roved for a minute, across Ronan's shoulders, his chest, his hips, appraising. When he met Ronan's eyes again, he did nothing to contradict what he had said. Giving a jerk of his chin, Parrish pulled away from the ugly brick of the wall, glancing over his shoulder only briefly, to make sure that Ronan was following him to the little alley off to the side of the entrance. "C'mon."

 

Ronan was more careful, glancing about for a moment, taking note of Gansey's position a little ways down the street and raising a brow at him.

 

Gansey shook his head once, vehemently, before he mouthed, _Don't go_.

 

Naturally, Ronan ignored him, their gazes locked just long enough for him to see Gansey's eyes roll in aggravation before he followed Parrish into the dank alleyway.

 

It was a tight fit, barely five feet between the buildings, the space about ten feet deep, dead-ending in another brick wall. The street light barely made a difference in these shadows. If Parrish was going to kill him, this would be the place to do it.

 

Ronan was immensely glad of the little SIG tucked into the back of his jeans, hidden beneath his shirt.

 

Niall had told him once to never be caught without a gun; He had carried one with him ever since.

 

When he met with Parrish at the end of the alley, trapped between three brick walls, Ronan asked again, " _What_?"

 

For a long time, Parrish was silent, his stormy eyes wandering again, brow furrowed, lips drawn tight together in thought or irritation. Then, carefully, soft enough that Ronan had to strain to hear him over the growl of the races, he asked, "You're that cop, aren'cha?"

 

Though Ronan's eyes went from summer sky to blue steel, he said nothing.

 

"The one who pulled me over a few days ago?" Parrish clarified, though it wasn't really necessary.

 

When Ronan's silence persisted, his steely stare his only response, Parrish made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. He sounded _fierce_. " _Yes or no_ ," he hissed.

 

Ronan held his silence for a moment longer before he asked, his voice like ice, "What if I am?"

 

It was a challenge. Parrish didn't rise to it, instead simply saying, "They'll kill you."

 

"You don't say."

 

In the face of Ronan's sarcasm, Parrish scowled. The sudden ferocity was an exceedingly good look on him, lightning flashing behind his stormy blue eyes. For just an instant, Ronan wanted desperately to be struck.

 

He scolded himself again. This kid was in a tough enough place already. He wouldn't make it worse. Something near the very back of Ronan's mind was, odd as it was, urging him to _protect him_ , though Parrish obviously didn't need protecting.

 

"I'm trying _to help you_ ," the kid was saying, though his drowsy accent took most of the bite out of his words, "you asshole."

 

Fighting back a shiver, Ronan crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall of the warehouse, mirroring Parrish's posture, directly across from him. It was a good thing the area was mostly abandoned, Ronan thought. It didn't smell like refuse in this alley, but like brick dust and burnt rubber and engine oil. The smell fit Parrish quite well, as odd as that sounded. Or maybe it wasn't odd at all. He was a mechanic. Burnt rubber and oil were fitting scents for him.

 

After another long pause, Ronan gathered his thoughts and asked, "What makes you think I need help?"

 

Another challenge. Again, Parrish refused to rise, merely lifting one dusty eyebrow in glorious disdain.

 

Ronan was itching for a physical altercation, and apparently this young man-- This _boy_ , really, his license said he was only nineteen, three years Ronan's junior-- wasn't going to give it to him. _Hard to get_. It was more attractive than it should have been.

 

When it was clear that Ronan wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, Parrish said, his voice flat, "No one runs with Joseph Kavinsky _willingly_."

 

"And why should I care?"

 

"'Cause K's an asshole," Parrish said, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. Truth be told, it was. "We follow him, but not because we _like_ him. We _respect_ him, we _fear him_ , even, but it's not the same thing. No one really _likes_ Joseph Kavinsky."

 

"Better not tell him that." Ronan was exceedingly pleased when Parrish gave him an amused little snort, his pretty eyes rolling, though this time he clearly wasn't doing so out of irritation. "Is it the money, then?"

 

"It varies," Parrish said with a shrug of his gaunt, narrow shoulders. "For Jiang, yeah, it's the money. _For me_ , it's the money. Skov just likes to race." His smile was warm and surprisingly fond when he added, "And Swan just likes Skov."

 

They made a cute pair, Ronan agreed, though he didn't say it aloud. "And Prokopenko?" he asked instead.

 

Parrish thought on that for a moment before he admitted, "Proko's the exception that proves the rule, I think."

 

"He's actually in love with K?" It would explain Prokopenko's intense jealousy, if nothing else. It was odd to think that someone could _love_ someone like Joseph Kavinsky. He was likeable, it was true, in a terribly self-destructive way. Was Proko the self-destructive sort? Ronan wondered. He himself had always been prone to destruction. He tried to put that thought aside and focus on Parrish. " _Seriously_?"

 

"As far as anyone can tell, yeah," Parrish agreed, shrugging again. "We're loyal to K, yeah, but it's not loyalty _for loyalty's sake_ , if you get my meaning."

 

Ronan did. "Ulterior motives," he heard himself murmur.

 

"Something like that," Parrish agreed.

 

"Still doesn't explain why you'd wanna help me, though."

 

"You let me outta that ticket," was all Parrish said.

 

It was very nearly absurd, and Ronan couldn't keep the laughter from his voice when he asked, "You'd snitch on someone like K over me getting you outta a li'l speeding ticket?"

 

One side of Parrish's pretty mouth lifted smugly. "So you don't deny being a cop?"

 

Ah, a challenge of his own. Ronan smirked. "I don't." He wondered for an instant if the want beating in his blood was evident in his voice. If he was lucky, it was being drowned out by the scream of the Mitsu and Maserati pulling back around. The roar of the little crowd nearly silenced his next words: "I'm not a liar."

 

Parrish's stormy eyes roved for a moment before they snagged on Ronan's again, blue on blue. "Maybe not." He seemed hesitant to confirm or deny it. "But you're an asshole."

 

"You are what you eat."

 

Though the words came casually, Parrish's reaction was nothing short of remarkable: His cheeks flushing, his lips parting, his eyes darkening, his breath going just the slightest bit shallow. His soft gasp was incredibly telling.

 

Ronan's smirk widened. _God bless the responsivity of young men_.

 

It faded when a shadow passed by the alley's mouth, blackening the air around them, and both he and Parrish glanced toward it, two pairs of blue eyes meeting a single pair of blown-black ones, hidden behind dark sunglasses.

 

"The Hell're you two doin' back there?" Kavinsky sounded almost jealous as he stepped in between the warehouses.

 

The smirk was back on Ronan's face, and he stepped closer to Parrish, chest to chest in the shadowy alley. Keeping his voice low, breathing at Parrish's pink-tipped ear, he asked, "You belong to him?"

 

The way Parrish jerked away at the words was answer enough. His eyes were blazing when he hissed, unnecessarily, "I don't _belong_ to anyone."

 

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart." Suddenly far too close, K lifted one hand to Parrish's face, grasping his chin, rubbing his thumb along the swell of his lower lip. Though they were the same height, it was clear who was looking up to who. His hidden gaze still on Parrish, Kavinsky asked of Ronan, "You want him, Lynch?"

 

"Haven't we already had this conversation?"

 

"Prob'ly." Slowly, behind dark shades, Kavinsky's hungry, red-rimmed eyes slid over to Ronan, though he kept his hold on Parrish. "Answer the question. _Loud_. So he can hear."

 

Ronan's eyes rolled despite his smirk, and he muttered, "Fuck you." There was little to no venom in his voice.

 

"Fuck _me_ ," came K's reply, half amused and half something else, something _deadly_ , "or fuck _him_?"

 

"What's it matter?" Ronan's tone was petulant, but he was all too aware of the way Kavinsky's hand slid from Parrish's mouth to his throat, his thumb pressing lightly against the hollow at the join of the boy's collarbones. Ronan didn't want to see the kid hurt, but to break character and show his concern could potentially get _them both_ killed. He pressed on. "You jealous, K?"

 

"Got no reason to be." At Ronan's raised eyebrow, Kavinsky added, "You run with me, you're _mine_." His eyes, dark and fucking _ravenous_ behind his sunglasses, met Parrish's again. "You both are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you sensing pynchinsky? I am :) K's just a greedy little fuck. I guess the pack boys aren't enough for him.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the dialogue-heaviness of this chapter. There were things that needed to be said.
> 
> Next chapter: Gansey. Another report. More talking. The chapter after that one is the one to keep your eyes open for. Shit goes down the chapter after next, and shit's name is Noah. You'll see.


	9. Shades of Blue

"You didn't even meet me here, Ronan." It was a wonder Gansey's pacing hadn't worn a hole into the cheap linoleum floor of his office: He'd been at it for nearly half an hour, his coffee forgotten on his desk, long gone cold. "And you didn't even bother to bring your phone with you..."

 

Ronan knew better than to apologize when he didn't mean it; It would just make Gansey angrier-- No. _Angrier_ was not the right word. Ganseys did not get _angry_. They got _irritated_. It hurt just the same.

 

 _Gansey was **irritated** at him_. Ronan held back a sigh as best he could.

 

"And that stunt in the alley..." Gansey's eyes, usually so warm, were icy.

 

Ronan shivered, hating himself for a few seconds, though he was unsure if it was because Gansey was so irritated with him, or if it was because Gansey was pulling such a visceral reaction from him. Ronan had been trying to put the attraction aside for years, and he pushed it from his thoughts as soon as it appeared, as he always did.

 

Gansey knew about his feelings, he was sure, but there was no way Ronan was going to bring it up and ruin their friendship. Gansey meant too much to him for that. He couldn't survive losing him, too.

 

" _What were you thinking, Ronan_?"

 

Ronan shrugged, his eyes on the ceiling, avoiding Gansey's pretty glare.

 

"Ronan, why in the world would you have followed that boy back there? Granted, I suppose he was rather pretty, but--" Gansey cut himself off, skidding to a halt, his boots scuffing the floor, staring at Ronan with wide eyes. "You weren't...?"

 

Rolling his eyes, Ronan groaned, "I wasn't fucking him."

 

"Are you sure?" When Ronan opened his mouth to speak, Gansey cut him off, asking, "Isn't young and pretty exactly your type?"

 

"I only just met him, Gansey."

 

" _You only just met Kavinsky, Ronan_."

 

Ronan tried not to snap when he shot back, "Parrish is just a kid, anyway." It hurt, those familiar eyes judging him. "Gimme a li'l credit, huh?"

 

"That's a very big request," Gansey softly said, "given the way you've been acting lately."

 

To that, Ronan said nothing.

 

Pressing his thumb to his lower lip, Gansey said, not quite chastising, "You need to _work with me_ , Ronan." And then he was pacing again. "We're _partners_." Truth be told, it was Blue's stubbornness and her strange magic with the Chief that had kept them together. It was a gift, their partnership, even if it was causing Gansey so much stress. Ronan sure as Hell wasn't going to be the one to ruin it. "You need to keep the lines of communication open if you want to make this work."

 

 _Guilt-tripping_ , Ronan thought, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. Gansey knew exactly how to get to him. "I was in a hurry," was the best defense he could think of. It was weak, but it was mostly true. "I needed to get to the warehouse."

 

" _Needed_?"

 

"It's work, isn't it?" Ronan lifted his left hand to his mouth, gnawing at his wristbands when he added, the words slightly muffled, "Gotta be on time."

 

"You're not treating it like a job," Gansey said, finally stilling, flopping down into his swivel chair and spinning a few times. He was decompressing, Ronan knew. For years, he'd kept his feelings bottled up, but there were certain situations, Gansey had come to learn, that required _expression_. He had Blue to thank for that little revelation. After a few seconds of slow, idle spinning, he stopped, eyeing Ronan up and down. Then, to Ronan's dismay, he jerked his chin toward Ronan's neck. "Is that why?"

 

Leaning back against Gansey's desk with one hand as support, Ronan brought the other to the fading bruise still lingering at the hollow of his throat. "K gets a little rough sometimes," he said, surprised at how much of a struggle it was to keep the admiration out of his voice.

 

"He did that?" Grabbing at the hem of Ronan's shirt, Gansey pulled him closer, eyeing the bruise.

 

"Yeah."

 

For a moment, Gansey released Ronan, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to grab the thin black case there. From it, he retrieved his glasses, sliding them on before he grabbed Ronan's shirt again, leaning in for a better look. Looking nothing less than immensely concerned, Gansey's voice was soft when he said, "Please tell me he didn't force you into--"

 

Ronan had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. "I've got two inches and twenty-five pounds on him, Gansey," he pointed out. "He couldn't _force me_ into anything."

 

To Ronan's surprise, Gansey was still clearly less than pleased. "So you mean you just... _Let him_?"

 

" _Obviously_."

 

"This isn't a joke, Ronan." When Ronan swatted his hand away from where it was tangled into black fabric, Gansey sighed. "This sort of thing could get you killed."

 

Ronan scoffed at that. "What, getting a few hickeys?"

 

Though Gansey flushed a bit in secondhand shame, he said eventually said, soft, as though he were keeping a secret, " _Sleeping with someone like Kavinsky_."

 

"I'm not _sleeping_ with him." Gansey looked even more bothered, and Ronan rolled his eyes. "We got off together," he clarified, and he did his best not to smirk as the pretty flush on Gansey's cheeks darkened. "It's not the same thing."

 

Clearing his throat, Gansey managed, barely, "It's still dangerous."

 

Clicking his tongue, Ronan disagreed, "Felt good at the time."

 

Again, Gansey sighed, heavier this time. Sliding his glasses off again, he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if warding off a headache. Ronan, of course, _was_ the headache. Then, sounding defeated, Gansey said, "Don't let Declan see those."

 

"He already did."

 

Gansey's brows furrowed, and he glanced at his wristwatch. **4:23**. Declan and Henry didn't arrive until six a.m., and Gansey pointed out, "He's not even here yet."

 

Clearly a bit reluctant, Ronan admitted, "He saw 'em on Sunday."

 

"He doesn't work Sundays," Gansey pointed out, "and neither do you."

 

Softer, Ronan said, "When we were at church."

 

"You went to church _looking like that_?" Gansey asked, his eyes on the bruise again.

 

"Matthew saw it, too." Gansey's eyes widened, shocked and appalled. It was almost comical, though Ronan knew better than to laugh. "And I went to see Mom after that. And Opal."

 

"Jesus, Ronan!"

 

When he could think of no other defense, Ronan said with a shrug, "At least I saw 'em."

 

That seemed to placate Gansey somewhat, and he finally opened his laptop, saying softly, "I suppose that's true." The computer chirped at him, the only happy thing in the over-tense, over-bright office. "How have they been?" It sounded as if he were trying to distract himself, like he'd given up. It was unfitting. "I've not seen them for quite some time."

 

"Mom's fine."

 

Gansey cast a glance up at Ronan when he asked, " _And Opal_?"

 

"She's still not talking." Ronan was gnawing on his wristbands again, wrinkling his nose. The motor oil and burnt rubber scent of the alley he'd met with Parrish in had sunken into the leather. It wasn't altogether unpleasant. "Not to me, not to Mom... She's s'posed to start kindergarten in the fall, but Mom's thinking she'll have to homeschool her."

 

"Hmm." Though his hands were typing, Gansey's eyes were at Ronan's throat again. "I suppose you can't send her to school if she won't speak..."

 

Ronan just nodded.

 

"But she understands everything, doesn't she?" Though Gansey's eyes occasionally darted to the computer screen, they always managed to find their ways back to that bruise. "She's very smart, she's just... Quiet."

 

"She's brilliant," Ronan agreed. Then he sighed, heavy, shaky, a bit surprised at himself. Then he ran one hand over his close-cropped hair, wondering how the stress of it all didn't have him going gray already. Niall had grayed early; Ronan was bound to, as well. At this rate, he'd be pure silver by the time he hit twenty-five. "Jesus, Gansey, she's so much like Noah..."

 

And then, from nowhere, was the million-dollar question: "How would he have felt about this?"

 

There was next to nothing Ronan did without first wondering what Noah would have thought of it, and he hadn't the heart to say what he was certain Noah would be feeling right then. It hurt too much to even consider it, and so he merely kept to his silence, though he knew Gansey's eyes were on him.

 

The silence stretched on, the only sound in the office was the ticking of the clock on the wall, the ticking of Gansey's wristwatch, the ticking of Gansey's hands on the keyboard of his laptop.

 

 _Jesus_.

 

Gansey's gaze was heavy, and at long last, Ronan found it in himself to speak, simply pointing out, "You're staring."

 

Gansey simply nodded, doing his best to focus on making up their report for the evening.

 

When he caught Gansey's stare again, Ronan smirked, though it was incredibly half-hearted. Certainly Gansey could see that. "Jealous?" It was a tease, meant to lighten the mood. It didn't work.

 

"No." Gansey's tone had Ronan's pseudo-smirk fading in an instant. "I'm disappointed."

 

When Ronan said nothing more, Gansey pulled Ronan's forgotten phone from his pocket, setting it on the desk between them.

 

"Call Blue," was all he said.

 

"You want me to call your wife in the middle of the night?" Ronan was slightly amused by the notion.

 

"Yes." There was no amusement in Gansey's voice.

 

Shaking his head, though his tiny, hesitant smile was undeniable, Ronan muttered, "Gonna wake her up."

 

As Gansey set to typing again, he murmured, "Insomnia is contagious."

 

"That's bullshit." Just the same, Ronan plugged her number in.

 

"She's gotten used to my schedule," Gansey said, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes on the screen. "Trust me, she's awake. _Call her_."

 

Ronan did, and on the third ring, Blue picked up.

 

"Everything all right?" she asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

 

"No one's been shot," Ronan said, rolling his eyes, though there was a smile steadily spreading over his lips already. There was no pussyfooting with Blue. He very much appreciated that about her. "I was just wondering..." Ronan cast his gaze over at Gansey when he asked, "What're you wearing?"

 

Blue's undignified squawk was definitely worth Gansey's sputtered laughter.

 

"Are you drunk?"

 

Ronan snorted at her. "Definitely."

 

"It's the only reason you'd call me in the middle of the night, innit?"

 

For a moment, Ronan paused, then he admitted, "It's a possibility."

 

"But you're not drunk, are you?" She saw through him as easily as Gansey did, though she'd only known Ronan a quarter as long as Gansey had. _Woman's intuition_ , she had said. "But you don't call girls. I may actually be the only female on your phone. So tell me, Ronan, what's got you calling me, _a female_ , ** _your best friend's wife_** , in the middle of the night?"

 

"You sound like Gansey right now, y'know that?"

 

"And _you_ are avoiding the question."

 

Ronan's eyes found Gansey's again, and slowly, carefully, he admitted, "Gansey says he's disappointed in me."

 

All traces of humor were gone from Blue's voice when she asked, "He's _disappointed_?" When Ronan was silent, she added, more to herself than to him, "It's been a long time since that happened, huh?"

 

"'Bout a year-and-a-half, yeah."

 

Carefully, Blue asked, "What did you do?"

 

"Nothing serious."

 

"Ronan, he wouldn't be disappointed in you if it wasn't something serious. He's not like that."

 

It was entirely true, and somehow, that just made it worse. Steeling himself, Ronan admitted, "I fucked around with the wrong guy, I guess."

 

"Not the guy you're the s'posed to be arresting?" Ronan's lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself. "He's a criminal, Ro. You're gonna get yourself hurt if you--"

 

Ronan cut her off with an eye-roll, and a sharp, " _I know that_." It came on an angry snarl, and Ronan was rather surprised at himself.

 

Blue's silence, a rare thing, was ten times deadlier than Ronan's was, and after a long moment, she said, her voice cold, " _Do not_ talk to me like that."

 

Ronan didn't apologize for it. It would have only made things worse.

 

"You're an asshole," she said when his silence progressed, "but I don't wanna see you get hurt."

 

"People get hurt, Sargent. That's life."

 

"Sargent-Gansey, thank you very much."

 

"Sargent-Gansey," Ronan agreed, and Gansey cast a hesitant smile over at him. Ronan was equally hesitant to return it.

 

Blue's smile was nearly audible, too, and she said, "Well, the Sargent-Gansey-Lynch family will be meeting at Nino's at seven on Wednesday, understand? And we're gonna stay there 'til we figure out how to straighten you out, got it?"

 

" _The Sargent-Gansey-Lynch family_?"

 

"Oh, yeah." The words came easily; They _were_ a family.

 

"We have an assignment on Wednesday, Sarge."

 

"D'you now?"

 

"Pretty sure we do, yeah."

 

"Not 'til late." Blue sounded incredibly blasé, and Ronan could practically hear her eyes roll. "I'll get you to work before the patrol car turns into a pumpkin, I promise."

 

Smiling to himself, Ronan asked, "The Chief willing to risk it?"

 

"'Course he is." As the Chief's step-daughter, Blue had more sway over him than most. "And he says that if you bail on family time, you're fired."

 

"Oh, he said that?"

 

"'Course he did." There was a shuffling, as if Blue was turning the pages of a book, and then she said, "I'll see you then, yeah?"

 

A smile tugging up on corner of Ronan's mouth, he was quick to agree: "Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, it's Blue! She's not going to make many appearances in this fic, but she's very important just the same! Also, Gray is totally her step-dad. Artemus annoys me, so. Also, Blue would totally hyphenate her last name instead of just taking Gansey's name, don't you think?
> 
> And, oops, Ronan kinda has feelings for Gansey, too. He's one of the few who stuck by Ronan after Niall and Noah's death. Ronan can't really help it, y'know? 
> 
> Now, I know this chapter was rather dull and rather more than angsty, but the next one... Oh, the next one! We learn more about Noah, and we get a blowjob, but I won't say who the parties involved are. I think you guys will be surprised.


	10. I Want to be Raw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from The Neighbourhood's Lurk

"How do you feel about playing dead weight?" Swan was very nearly yelling, lest his songbird voice be lost in the rumble of engines. Even on his tiptoes, his hands on Ronan's bicep, pulling him closer, he wasn't clearly audible.

 

"I'd rather drive," was Ronan's shouted reply.

 

Swan's next words were drowned out as Skov and Jiang shot off, Skov in a shiny, candy-blue Mazda, Jiang in an even shinier red Supra. Kavinsky and Prokopenko were watching nearby. Proko was leaning on K's shoulder, though it was a bit awkward, given he was a good three inches taller than Kavinsky was.

 

Huffing, Swan said again, this time audible, his voice returning to normal, "We don't even know you know how to drive, man." He rolled his eyes as he said it, as if he didn't believe it himself; They were most likely Kavinsky's words. "You gotta sit in before K'll let you race. _Standard procedure_."

 

" _Control freak_ ," Ronan muttered.

 

Swan smiled at him for that, though he was quick to point out, "But you said you'd rather drive than sit in." His smile was pretty and wicked. "Doesn't that make you just as bad?"

 

Though Ronan gave a little snort of amusement, he didn't give a proper reply.

 

"I think _bad_ would prob'ly work pretty well on you, actually." The flirty edge in Swan's voice was unmistakable.

 

Again, Ronan said nothing, though one brow lifted high, a little smirk playing at the edges of his lips. It was nice, being flirted with. Ronan was somewhat untouchable, with his tattoo and his sharp eyes and his wedding ring, but it was exhilarating, being at the center of someone else's attention. The fact that Swan was tiny and lovely and mischievous was just a bonus.

 

Swan's eyes, a bright, startling gold, roved for a moment, hungry. "You _look_ bad, anyway."

 

"Skov know you're over here flirting?" Stepping out of the warehouse, wiping his hands on an already greasy rag, was Parrish. He was dressed in a pair of stained khaki coveralls, the arms knotted at his hips, low-slung, his white undershirt clinging enticingly.

 

"'Course he does!" Swan sounded amused by the idea. "What else do I do?"

 

Letting out a soft, scoffing laugh, Parrish said, "True." Though he held Swan's amber gaze for a second longer, Parrish's stormy eyes soon came to Ronan. "Hey."

 

"Hey," Ronan echoed.

 

As Parrish and Ronan held their silence, eyes locked, a slow, knowing smile spread across Swan's face. "Y'know," he said, voice low and teasing, "you two'd make a cute couple."

 

Parrish flushed a bit at the idea, and though Ronan said nothing, he was certain his eyes were speaking for him, dark and wanting. Parrish held them, bold. It was charming.

 

Between them, Swan's smile widened.

 

"Hey, Lynch!"

 

It was a struggle for Ronan to keep his eyes from rolling. Kavinsky had horrible timing, and Ronan groaned irritably when a wiry arm was tossed about his shoulders. Swan obediently released Ronan's arm, stepping back to stand beside Parrish, watching.

 

"You're gonna play dead weight for me, understand?" K was far too close, his lips nearly touching Ronan's skin as he spoke. Ronan fought back a shiver. "Me and you in Swan's Golf, Proko and Parrish in Proko's."

 

"I'm not racing," Ronan said, his eyes sharp, boring into Kavinsky's, "unless I get to drive."

 

"Can't stand handing the reins to someone else?" Kavinsky sounded intrigued.

 

Turning his head to face Kavinsky, their lips inches apart, Ronan clarified, "Just can't stand handing 'em to you."

 

Instead of tossing the keyring to Kavinsky, Swan laughed and pressed them into Ronan's hand. There was an Aglionby keychain attached to the main ring.

 

"And," Ronan added, smirking, "I don't need dead weight. Pretty sure Proko doesn't, either. Just me and him'll do just fine."

 

Kavinsky looked nothing less than _enchanted_ , his smirk wider than Ronan's, wilder. He half-turned, calling over his shoulder, though his eyes never left Ronan's, "Proko!"

 

In mere seconds, Prokopenko was at Kavinsky's side, keys in hand, asking, "What's up?"

 

His eyes still on Ronan's, Kavinsky said, "You and Lynch're gonna race."

 

"He can't race without sitting in first," Prokopenko said, and his eyes were on Ronan's, too, though his were pale and scornful, nearly the polar opposite of K's.

 

Kavinsky seemed amused, saying, "I'da thought you'd be jumping at the chance to race him, Proko. _You want to_ , don'cha?"

 

"Well, yeah," Prokopenko eventually said, "but..." Kavinsky raised a brow, challenging. Prokopenko wasn't one to fight K's orders, and he huffed a bit, squaring his uneven shoulders and hissing at Ronan, "C'mon."

 

"Stakes?" Ronan asked just as Proko turned away.

 

"When I win," Prokopenko said, not bothering to look back, or even to slow his stride, "you're gonna stop fucking around with K. _He's mine_."

 

Sharing a glance with Kavinsky, then Swan, then Parrish, the last one lingering, Ronan followed Prokopenko around the far side of the warehouse, where a buckling patch of asphalt sat: A makeshift parking lot.

 

"Yours is that one," Proko called over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.

 

Ronan smothered a laugh, and it came out more as a snort. Clicking his tongue, he said, " _It's purple_."

 

"It's _Swan's_ ," Prokopenko shot back, pulling open the door of his own Golf, a far more sensible silver, glittering under the streetlights. It was _literally **glittering**_. Noah would have loved it. "He's not exactly known for being subtle."

 

"Fair enough." Mirroring Proko, Ronan folded himself into the driver's seat of Swan's ridiculously purple Golf, adjusting the seat and the mirrors. Clicking his seatbelt on, Ronan slid the key into the ignition. The engine coughed to life, and Ronan shifted and swerved to follow Prokopenko out of the lot and into the starting position, mere seconds after Jiang and Skov came sliding into the little lot.

 

Stepping into the center lane, just between the two Golfs, Kavinsky called, "The course is marked with traffic cones. One single mile circuit, all left turns, meet back here." Glancing from Prokopenko to Ronan and back again, K lifted both arms high above his head. A nod from the drivers, and he dropped them: _Go_.

 

They did not take off the way Ronan had expected, but slowly, _slowly_.

 

Prokopenko was already ahead of him within seconds. He knew how to handle this kind of vehicle better, after all.

 

Though the engine purred agreeably, Ronan pushed it, squealing his way around the first corner, gravel flying as he slid.

 

He was closing the distance, at least, flooring the gas and giving chase as best he could, flying past decrepit buildings and abandoned trucks and forgotten machinery, all rusted red-black under the glow of the streetlight. The crowd was thinner out here, but their energy was _electric_. Ronan could feel it all the way down to his bones.

 

Come the next turn, wider, Ronan managed to slip past Prokopenko altogether, rolling over the curb, half on the sidewalk, squeaking past, and he was very well aware of the middle finger extended out of Prokopenko's window.

 

It was far from the fastest he'd ever gone, but it felt amazing just to be racing again. He could practically feel Noah's hand at his thigh, urging him on. He could practically hear Noah's voice in his ear, whispering, soft and desperate, _Faster_.

 

By the third turn, the other Golf was nothing but a pair of headlights in the rearview.

 

Ronan was soon back at the start of the loop, alone, his chest swelling, his heart pounding. He hadn't felt so good in ages, standing on the brakes and skidding to a noisy, smoking stop. He met Gansey's eyes through the driver's-side window, though Gansey quickly looked away, to where Prokopenko was fast approaching.

 

That was when the Golf was rear-ended, and Ronan was immensely glad Gansey had convinced him to start wearing his seatbelt; He'd have gone through the windshield without it. Noah, alas, had never learned that lesson.

 

From the sidelines, Kavinsky and the boys came rushing in, K and Jiang to Proko, Skov and Swan to the back of the purple Golf, Parrish to Ronan's side. Gansey barely managed to _not_ come running, mouthing to Ronan, _Are you all right_? Ronan nodded.

 

"Lynch!" Parrish pulled the door open on the purple Golf, eyes wide and worried when he asked, "Y'all right?"

 

Ronan let out a long breath, resting his forehead against the steering wheel before he said, quite honestly, laughter in his voice, "Yeah, I'm great."

 

Rolling his eyes despite his bemused smile, Parrish stepped aside for Kavinsky to lean in.

 

"You never said what your stakes were, Lynch."

 

Meeting K's eyes with his own, Ronan replied, still breathless, "How 'bout for Proko to stop being such an asshole?"

 

Scoffing, Kavinsky glanced over to where Prokopenko still sat, belted into his seat while Swan chewed him out. "Don't think he can help it sometimes." K spat, making sure Prokopenko saw it, before he straightened, offering Ronan his hand.

 

Undoing his seatbelt, Ronan accepted the offer, letting Kavinsky toss an arm around his shoulders, shooting a dirty look over at Prokopenko, unaware of the fact that Ronan's eyes were on Parrish again.

 

"Do you have any idea how much candy purple paint costs, Proko?" Ronan had never heard Swan sound so-- Truthfully, he'd never heard Swan angry _at all_. It seemed unfitting. "You're paying for the paint _and_ the repairs, I'll have you know."

 

"It's not like you can't afford--"

 

" _That's not the point_." It came on a sharp hiss, and both Ronan and Prokopenko blinked owlishly, surprised and impressed. The movement drew Swan's amber eyes, leopard-like now, _fierce_ , to Ronan, and he asked, suddenly his usual self, "You okay, Lynch?"

 

Ronan shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine." Then, carefully, he added, "Sorry about the..." He trailed off, gesturing at the back end of the Golf. It was a mess of purple paint and bare metal, crushed like a cheap beer can. _What a shame_.

 

Giving a warm smile, Swan said, "You don't need to apologize." Then he turned his gaze on Prokopenko, saying, " _You do_."

 

Sighing, Prokopenko said, with surprising sincerity, "I'm sorry I hit your car. I'll pay for the damage."

 

"Good." Swan nodded to Ronan. "Now to Lynch."

 

Prokopenko scrunched up his nose, a few of his freckles disappearing into the wrinkles. It was strangely cute.

 

"You could have _killed him_ , Proko," Swan insisted.

 

Under his breath, eyes on Ronan's, Prokopenko said, "That was kinda the idea."

 

Rolling his eyes, Swan muttered, "Don't tell your parole officer that." He reached out to squeeze Ronan's shoulder as he nudged past the rest of the group, climbing into his mangled car and gesturing out the window for Prokopenko to follow him back into the decrepit lot. Skov, too, followed, while Jiang headed across the street to chat with a tall, familiar figure in dark jeans and an expensive-looking button-up.

 

Ronan cursed the poor quality of the streetlights, and a few seconds later, Kavinsky nudged him towards the door, Adam following not far behind.

 

Kavinsky was quick to flop down on the nearest of the couches, pulling Ronan down beside him. Parrish claimed the seat on K's opposite side.

 

"You did good out there," Kavinsky said, pulling a worse-for-wear flask from the back pocket of his jeans. Taking a long pull off it, he offered the flask to Ronan, who declined. Parrish did the same. "Made good time, for a rookie."

 

"Who says I'm a rookie?"

 

Kavinsky gave a pleased huff at that, stuffing the flask away again.

 

"So does this mean you're gonna start letting me race?" There was a strange tease in Ronan's voice; There was still adrenaline sparkling through his blood; He was high on it.

 

Parrish seemed to pick up on it, leaning around K to meet Ronan's eyes, curious and amused. Ronan returned the look with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

 

Kavinsky, of course, noticed. "Maybe." From his other pocket, he produced a cell phone, shoving it at Ronan's chest and demanding, "Gimme your number."

 

It only distracted Ronan from Parrish's stormy eyes for a few seconds, and only a few seconds after he handed the phone back to K, a text appeared on his own phone: _Staring is rude_.

 

"I'm not staring," Ronan said aloud. It was a lie. _Lies were addictive_ , his mother had once told him. _Once you started, you couldn't stop, and you'd just spiral down and down and down_. For just an instant, Ronan wondered if she was right.

 

Leaning forward, around Kavinsky, Parrish pointed out, "Yeah, you are."

 

" _Parrish_." It was a command, and Parrish's eyes darted from Ronan's to Kavinsky's.

 

"Yeah?"

 

A downward glance was all it took to get the point across.

 

Parrish sighed, the sound bordering on an irritated growl. "Can't you get Proko to--"

 

"I'm cutting him off." Slumping down into the couch, Kavinsky spread his legs wide, arms flung over the sofa back. His fingers idly brushed the back of Ronan's neck, sending shivers racing down tattooed skin. "He's not getting dick for at least a week."

 

"Oh, please." Parrish didn't sound like he cared one way or the other, sliding off the sofa to kneel between K's spread thighs. "He's gonna come begging after Swan's done with him, like _he always does_." Parrish undid the button and fly of Kavinsky's jeans, gently easing his cock out with an effortlessness in his movements that spoke of great experience. K was already half-hard in Parrish's hands, and Ronan felt a hot little flutter of arousal at the sight. "And you're gonna give in, like _you always do_."

 

Kavinsky didn't seem at all bothered by the accusation, sinking farther into the sofa and tangling his fingers into dusty hair.

 

"You got no spine when it comes to him."

 

Ronan had no doubt that it was the truth.

 

Leaning in, Parrish pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Kavinsky's cock, and Ronan felt his own give a needy twitch in response. When Parrish parted his lips and slid his mouth down over Kavinsky's cock, Ronan did his best to swallow a moan. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be in K's place, or if he wanted to be down on his knees beside Parrish. His jeans were uncomfortably tight.

 

Though Parrish's eyes were on Ronan, too, Kavinsky was the first to speak, asking, his voice low and rough, "You want in on this, Lynch?"

 

Ronan flushed at the thought, murmuring, surprised at himself, "No."

 

Pulling away from Kavinsky's cock, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips glistening, Parrish said, "I thought you said you weren't a liar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess who Jiang went to talk to after the race? ;) ;) ;)
> 
> Anywho, this chapter did not turn out the way I was planning. Ronan tends to not do what I tell him to do. The boy's got a mind of his own, I tell you. But we still managed to learn a tiny bit about Noah, and the aforementioned blowjob still happened, so I hope you guys aren't disappointed, at least?? Personally, I really enjoyed this chapter! It's actually one of my favorites so far! 
> 
> Oh, and Swan! Him being angry is rare. Can you guess why? I really hope I can work it into the fic. He's got the most interesting backstory of all the pack members, in my mind
> 
> One last thing: For the full Or The Highway experience, I'd recommend popping over to I'm Thinkin' We Should Ride. It's a repository fic for the little side pieces I couldn't fit into the story itself


	11. A Dinner Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note before you start reading: I've gone back and done some editing to the old chapters, and it'd be beneficial to reread. Not necessary, really, but beneficial. For the full experience, I'd have to recommend checking out the OTH side fic I'm Thinkin' We Should Ride, especially the third chapter, which makes the fourth paragraph of this chapter make a good deal more sense
> 
> Also, I am so, so sorry about the false alarm the other day. A plot hole was pointed out to me, and I wanted to fix it before the chapter was widely read

" _Wow_." Blue didn't seem particularly enthused, one brow raised high, arms crossed over her chest. She was waiting for Ronan just inside of Nino's, safely tucked into the air-conditioned doorway.

 

Ronan joined her as quickly as he could. Though it was past seven, it was still muggy outside, and Ronan swiped an arm across his forehead.

 

Blue's eyes, dark, dark green, roved for a moment, appraising, clearly not pleased with what she saw. "You look like roadkill."

 

Despite the nice jeans and button-up shirt and well-kept boots, it was probably true. There were dark raccoon circles under Ronan's eyes and a fading bruise at his throat and a shadow of stubble across his face. He probably smelled of gasoline and Kavinsky's expensive cologne and Parrish's soft, dusty hair. It had been nearly twenty-four hours, but he could still feel the silk of it beneath his fingertips. He could still feel the press of Kavinsky's lips against his, the press of teeth at his neck, of nails at his nape. He did his best to put the thoughts aside, and, giving Blue an especially rude once-over, he said, not meaning it in the slightest, "Same to you, Sarge."

 

To be fair, Blue looked far better than roadkill. She wore faded, cut-off denim shorts and suspenders, one of Gansey's old undershirts and a pair of high stockings that left several inches of her thighs exposed, the white of the fabric stunning against her bronze skin. Ronan would never say it aloud, but she was rather pretty.

 

As if she knew his thoughts, Blue rolled her eyes. She probably _did_ know, though: She and Ronan were opposite sides of the same coin. Grabbing at the collar of his shirt, she pulled him low enough that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, hugging him close.

 

Only the slightest bit hesitant, Ronan brought his hands to her waist. She was so tiny that he could nearly join his fingers at the small of her back. She smelled of sage and wildflowers and _Gansey_. Ronan smothered a smile into her hair. _Just like old times_.

 

And, _just like old times_ , Ronan was the one to pull away first, draping an arm around Blue's shoulders and asking, "Isn't Gansey s'posed to be here, too?"

 

"He'll be joining us later." Blue's imitation of her husband's accent was flawless. "He's talking with the Chief, I think."

 

"'Bout what?" It was a struggle for Ronan to keep the venom out of his voice. He got the distinct feeling that he already knew.

 

Blue, of course, ignored him, taking his arm and leading him over to one of the corner booths of the dingy little restaurant, the one they'd always used when they'd all come together, back in high school, all those years ago. It was an L-shaped pleather affair, and the two couples-- Gansey and Blue, and Ronan and Noah-- had always paired off in it.

 

Pressing his fingers to the chipping laminate of the tabletop, Ronan realized that their seating arrangement would be lopsided now.

 

He did his best to hold back a sigh as he claimed his old seat, touching his fingertips to the cracked faux -leather of the place where Noah was meant to sit.

 

Furrowing her eyebrows as she sat beside him, Blue softly asked, "Y'okay, Ro?"

 

One side of his mouth quirking up into a sarcastic smile, Ronan admitted, "Just old memories coming back." He glanced over his shoulder, where a red-brown stain marked the wall. Noah had thrown a meatball at him, and the stain had proven to be impossible to remove, even after four years.

 

Blue's smile was a bit apologetic as she followed his gaze, and she reached across the table to place her hand over his, saying, meaning every word, "I miss him, too."

 

To that, Ronan said nothing, merely gazing down at their joined hands.

 

Sighing, Blue leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, and he wrinkled his nose at her. She laughed at him, of course, asking, "That the first time you've been kissed by a girl?"

 

Thinking back as he touched the warm spot on his cheek, Ronan asked, "Does my mom count?"

 

Deliberating for a moment, Blue eventually announced, "Nah, don't think so."

 

"Then yes."

 

Though Blue laughed at him again, her smile soon faded a bit, and she greeted the waiter, "Hi."

 

Ronan didn't even bother with politeness, asking, " _Swan_?"

 

" _Lynch_." Swan's eyes roved for a moment, snagging on their joined hands before he asked, undeterred by Ronan's surprise or Blue's befuddlement, "Did I peg you wrong, or...?"

 

Shrugging, Ronan said, "She's my best friend's wife."

 

Swan's raised eyebrow spoke a thousand words.

 

With a wicked smirk, Ronan added, "We're having an affair." _It was a joke_ , he told himself, _not a lie_. Noah had taught him the difference between the two ages ago.

 

Tucking their menus under his arm, Swan was quick to point out, "Didn't know you kiss girls. Honestly, I'm a li'l disappointed."

 

Ronan combatted that with, "It's just her." Turning to Blue, he puckered his lips to duck-ish glory. She did the same, though they kept several inches away from one another. Their hands were still tangled together.

 

Clicking his tongue, Swan said, "I don't think that counts."

 

"Whatever." Ronan waved a dismissive hand in Swan's direction, and Swan raised a derisive eyebrow at him, more amused than annoyed. "Coke for her, beer for me, a large deep-dish, half-sausage half-avocado and some rabbit food for the vegan."

 

"I'm not vegan," Blue objected, looking very nearly offended. "I'd have to give up yogurt for that!"

 

" _God forbid_ ," Ronan muttered.

 

"I'll have a spinach salad," Blue added, shooting Ronan an annoyed little smile. "Grilled chicken, not crispy, honey-mustard dressing. But Coke for him, too. We're going _non-alcoholic_ tonight."

 

At her side, Ronan rolled his eyes, muttering, " _Buzzkill_."

 

Scribbling their order down, though it was hardly necessary, Swan said, "Be back in a sec," and made his way behind the counter to make up their drinks.

 

With him gone, Blue returned her attention to Ronan, asking, "How've you been? I haven't seen you in ages."

 

Reclaiming his hand to upend a salt shaker, watching the crystals shimmer as they fell onto the grimy tabletop, Ronan replied with a question of his own, asking, "Has it really been that long?"

 

Blue was quick to take the salt shaker from him, also snatching up its pepper-filled match, placing both at the far side of the table, well out of Ronan's reach. She swept the salt away off the edge of the table, tossing a bit over her shoulder for luck. Placing her hands over Ronan's, stilling him as best she could, she said, "It's been almost a month."

 

Casting her a smirk, Ronan asked, "Did you miss me?"

 

" _Obviously_."

 

It was less satisfying that Ronan had hoped. Glancing up to catch her eye again, he asked, "Anything interesting happening in Ganseyland?"

 

" _Sargent_ -Ganseyland."

 

Though Ronan rolled his eyes, he corrected himself just the same, saying, " _Sargent_ -Ganseyland." It sounded like a slur.

 

"Not much, really." Blue gave Swan a cursory glance and a soft, "Thank you," as he delivered their drinks. Ronan simply watched him with dark, wanting eyes. For an instant, Blue simply stared at him, then, a bit hesitantly, she continued, "The Pig's been giving us a lotta trouble lately, but I think I could prob'ly talk Adam into--"

 

" _Adam_?" It was a common name, Ronan told himself. There were probably at least twenty men in Henrietta alone called _Adam_. " _Adam **who**_?"

 

"Parrish." Unwrapping her straw, Blue said, "He's a friend of mine."

 

Ronan did his best to swallow down the urge to inquire further. Instead, he pointed out, "Didn't know you had friends besides me and Gansey."

 

Blue, clever thing that she was, employed one of Ronan's favorite phrases against him, mock-hissing, " _Piss up a rope_."

 

Ronan nearly choked on his Coke.

 

Looking immensely proud of herself, Blue asked, "So how's the new assignment going?"

 

"Fine, I guess." The words came with a shrug and a clearing of Ronan's throat. He pressed his fist to his chest for a moment. "Chief's got us on patrol tonight, though. I think he's really just..." Ronan trailed off when the little bell above the door rung and Gansey stepped in, waving. Ronan waved back. "Hey, man."

 

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," Gansey said as he settled into the booth, pressing a kiss to Blue's fluffy cloud of hair. "I was talking with the Chief, and we were thinking that--"

 

" _Gansey_." Blue bumped her shoulder against his. " _Hush_." He seemed more amused than anything else, and she gave him a smile before returning her attention to Ronan, saying, " _How's the new assignment, Ronan_?" She'd never been one for subtleties.

 

Ronan didn't answer.

 

His eyes were on Swan as he approached again, asking, "Another drink?"

 

"A sweet tea, if you please." Gansey flashed Swan his best smile, though it was clearly a mask. With Swan gone again, Gansey leaned in to whisper, "Isn't that _Swan_?"

 

Raising an eyebrow at Gansey, Blue asked, "You know him, too?"

 

"Yeah." Ronan's voice was also a whisper, though it was incredibly unfitting.

 

Ignoring Blue, to her irritation, Gansey asked, "What's he doing here?"

 

"Not really sure." As Swan returned with Gansey's tea, as well as a large tray bearing the half-and-half pizza and Blue's salad, Ronan asked, "What's a spoiled rich boy doing working at a greasy pizza joint, anyway?"

 

Smiling at the challenge in Ronan's voice, Swan said, "I like to earn at least _some_ of my money legally." It came out sounding flirtatious, and both Gansey and Blue flushed a bit. Ronan had grown relatively used to it. "You need anything else?"

 

"Not for now, no." Gansey was the one to speak.

 

"Well, _pretty boy_ , if you change your mind..." Swan trailed off with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows, and Gansey's flush spread down his neck.

 

Ronan could do nothing to hold back a snort of laughter.

 

Blue was less than amused, watching Swan's back as he retreated. "Friend of yours?" she asked, deadpan. She most likely already knew the answer.

 

"Yeah, he is." It felt strange to admit, but it was true. _Swan was his friend_. Ronan wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but there it was.

 

Patting a still-flustered Gansey's shoulder, Blue asked, "Is he part of the assignment?"

 

"Yep."

 

"Gotta admit, I'm a bit worried if you're hanging out with guys like him."

 

Something strangely protective came over Ronan then, and he said, "Hey, Swan's all right. He just can't keep himself to himself, y'know?"

 

"You like him?"

 

Scoffing, Ronan shot back, "I said he was my friend, didn't I?"

 

"No, I mean..." Blue paused, searching for the right words, glancing to watch Swan flit from table to table across the room. "You're _interested_ in him, aren'cha?"

 

Tossing a quick glance at Gansey, Ronan replied, entirely honest, "Him and K and the boys are the first fun I've had since I joined the force."

 

Gansey shook his head, looking equal parts irritated and amused as he sipped at his tea.

 

"Looks like it," Blue agreed, leaning closer to pull at the collar of Ronan's shirt, peeking at the bruise still lingering in the hollow of his throat. Even faded, it was more impressive than the bite K had left at his pulse the night before. "Did _he_ do that?"

 

" _He wishes_."

 

Furrowing her brow a bit, Blue met Ronan's eyes with her own deep-forest-green ones.

 

Ronan subconsciously mirrored her expression. "Don't look at me like that, maggot." It sounded far less commanding than usual.

 

Though Blue glared for a moment, she soon sighed in defeat, turning and asking of Gansey, "So... Why were you so late? Did Dean really keep you?"

 

"It was a very important talk," was Gansey's only defense. He nearly flinched at the look Ronan gave him, sharp and knowing.

 

"Kinda figured that." There was scorn in Ronan's voice, and he reached for a slice of pizza, ignoring Blue's eyes on him. His slice was taken from the sausage side of the pizza, of course. He hated avocado. It tasted like flavorless, un-melted butter.

 

Clearing his throat, reaching out to squeeze Blue's hand, his pale-golden fingers squeezing her bronze ones, slotting together easily, the effect of years of practice. Meeting Ronan's eyes, Gansey admitted, "We were talking about taking you off this case."

 

" _No_." Ronan's pizza slice hung in the air, inches from his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to eat it. He set it aside. "I'm the only one who can do it, Gansey. Someone's gotta get these guys in line or outta town _or something_ before someone else gets killed."

 

" _There are other ways_."

 

"I _want_ to do this, Gansey." It was entirely true, though Ronan would never dare speak his reasons for continuing the case in Gansey's company. He wouldn't discuss it with Blue either, if she and Parrish knew each other. " _I'm fine_."

 

Biting her lip, Blue said, "Maybe you could--"

 

" _I'm fine_ , Sargent." The venom in Ronan's voice could fell an elephant. " _Don't worry about it_."

 

Mimicking Ronan's vicious tone, though it sounded less than fearsome in her wooden-wind-chime voice, Blue said with a shrug, " _I'm not worrying about it_."

 

"You two," Gansey said his forehead lined in concern, "are terrible liars."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us pretend that Swan works at Nino's. I was originally gonna use Cialina, but I didn't feel like she belonged in this AU, and I really hate having characters appear in only one chapter. It feels... Lazy, I guess? Also, I've fallen totally head-over-heels for Swan, so :) Also, should Ro x Swan be added to the relationship tags, do you think?
> 
> Oh, but we got some Blue! Such a doll. I just wish I could've worked her into the fic earlier. As I mentioned before, she doesn't have many appearances, though she's still quite important. Maybe I can squeeze her in... She seems to bring out the best in Ro, for some reason...
> 
> And she and Adam... It's a bit complicated, but you'll see eventually


	12. The Law Won

"You don't _lie_ , Ronan."

 

Though last night's dinner had been a moderate success, Gansey had been quick to latch onto that little detail quite firmly: Catching Ronan in a lie was a rarity. Ronan resisted the urge to roll his eyes, digging his blunt, chewed-down nails into his palms in an attempt to alleviate the tension. It didn't help.

 

Nervously wetting his lips, Gansey asked, "What's gotten into you?"

 

He didn't sound as if he really wanted to know. Ronan didn't blame him.

 

"Ronan?"

 

"If I said _Kavinsky_ , would you let it go?"

 

Sighing, Gansey tightened his hands on the wheel of their shared patrol car, his knuckles paling. The plastic cover squeaked in his grip. Cautiously, his eyes flitting to Ronan, he said, sounding nearly desperate, "Please tell me it's just sex."

 

 _Sex_. For such a tiny word, it seemed incredibly filthy on Gansey's lips. Ronan repressed a shiver, casting his eyes out of the window and into the night, saying rather mechanically, "It's just sex, Gansey." It wasn't a lie; It was rote.

 

He had said the same thing when he had started seeing Noah. Wild, hyperactive Noah had, at first, made Gansey very nervous: The last thing Ronan needed was someone as reckless as he was. Kavinsky was, of course, an entirely different animal than Noah had been. In this case, Gansey's worry was entirely justified.

 

Gansey was clearly well aware of that, adding, "It's just sex _with the enemy_." His eyes, usually so warm and soft and comforting, were icy, his strong jaw set, his pretty lips pressed into a tight line, stern and authoritative. "Don't forget who he is, Ronan." There was no questioning him when he got like this. " _Joseph Kavinsky is **the enemy**_."

 

Though Ronan did nothing to deny it, there was something like denial in his eyes when Gansey stole a glance at him.

 

"It's not just Kavinsky, though, is it?" Gansey had always been able to read Ronan too easily, and Ronan's nails bit deeper. If this went on too much longer, he'd draw blood, he was sure of it. "There's something else."

 

" _There isn't something else_." That was, unfortunately, a _genuine lie_. It didn't sit well with Ronan's stomach, and he closed his eyes against it, though it did nothing to help.

 

"No," Gansey agreed, brow furrowed. "There's _someone_ else, isn't there?"

 

Ronan's lack of an answer was an answer all its own.

 

Hands tapping a nervous, tuneless beat against the steering wheel, Gansey asked, "Who is it?"

 

Still, Ronan kept to his silence, watching as the highways of Henrietta blended together in the night, smears of blue and red and gold on blue-black streets and gray buildings and spring-bright trees, like an oil painting some artsy snob would pay a fortune for.

 

"Is it Swan?"

 

Ronan gave a huff of humorless laughter at that, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking as far into his seat as his seatbelt would allow. "Swan's too good for me." It wasn't a lie.

 

"He offered, though, didn't he?"

 

"He offered to let me fuck around with him and Skov," Ronan clarified. "He wants me to fuck him, is all. He doesn't want _me_."

 

"But you _are_ interested in him," Gansey pointed out, clearly oblivious to Ronan's rising irritation.

 

Shaking his head, Ronan said again, " _He doesn't want **me**_."

 

The silence that fell then was a heavy thing, quieting the radio chatter and the roll of tires over asphalt, filling the patrol car beyond capacity, ready to burst.

 

Doing his best to release some the pressure, praying he could stop the explosion before it tore them both to shreds, Gansey asked, " _Who is it_ , Ronan?"

 

Leaning his temple against the window, the glass warm on his skin, Ronan said nothing, watching in continued silence as they cruised through downtown.

 

The city wasn't particularly lively so late at night. The streets were quiet in this part of town; Ronan found himself desperately missing the noise and the vivacity of the races. He wondered what Kavinsky's little pack was up to. He wondered what _Kavinsky_ was up to. He wondered what Parrish--

 

That train of thought derailed almost instantly, dissolving into the memory of his hand in Parrish's hair, the memory of Parrish's soft, pretty lips wrapped around K's cock, the memory of Parrish's dark, stormy eyes locking with his, bold and wanting. He regretted so much about that night. He should have dropped to his knees at Parrish's side, shared Kavinsky's cock between them. _Tomorrow_ , he told himself. He'd be at the warehouse tomorrow night. He could make up for the lost opportunity then.

 

Ronan straightened in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his spread knees, still gazing out the window, too stubborn to grant Gansey so much as a glance.

 

Giving another sigh, this one soft and resigned, Gansey said, his voice gentle, "I can't help you if you won't talk to me, Ronan."

 

"Sure, Dad."

 

" _Lynch_!"

 

It was half a snarl, and Ronan allowed himself a smirk. "Why does that bother you so much?" Gansey's scowl was a pretty thing; It was one of his best expressions, Ronan thought. _Gansey-on-fire_. "Just 'cause you and Blue don't have kids yet?"

 

Smoothing his features into something resembling civility, Gansey said, "I will never be a father." He sounded hurt, and Ronan could do nothing to avoid the guilt welling up in his chest. "I don't need you reminding me of it."

 

Furrowing his brow, Ronan asked, suddenly serious, "What do you mean, _never_?"

 

"Blue doesn't want children," Gansey said, "and as stubborn as she is, I doubt she ever will."

 

"It's not just her decision."

 

"She's the one who would be _carrying_ said children, Ronan. It's more her decision than mine." The little lines along Gansey's forehead said that he'd made this speech more than once. He brought his left hand to his mouth, thumbing at his lower lip. "I respect her decision."

 

Softly, Ronan said, "Sorry, man."

 

Humming a bit, Gansey said, "Don't be. It has nothing to do with you."

 

Ronan simply nodded.

 

"So tell me," Gansey said, pulling on his mask and his Detective Richard Campbell Gansey the Third voice, "who is it that's got you so twisted up?" He smiled-- A true smile, not a guise-- at the dirty look Ronan shot him for that. "Turnabout is fair play," was his only defense. It was bulletproof.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ronan glanced out the window again, saying, eyes going wide, voice urgent, "Stop the car."

 

"Oh, Ronan, don't be like--"

 

"Go to the front of the building," Ronan snapped, "and _stop goddamn the car_."

 

Just as the patrol car came to a halt in front of the G.F.M. Wright Memorial Hospital, Ronan slid free of his seatbelt, darting out of the car and toward a lean figure curled at the base of one of the columns holding up the carport. Stopping a few feet away, Ronan carefully asked, " _Parrish_?"

 

Curled in on himself, hands buried into his own hair, Parrish was slow to look up. When he did, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and sleep-shadowed. He looked awful.

 

Carefully kneeling before him, Ronan asked, "You all right?"

 

"Not exactly." His voice was rough, his breaths hitching. Ronan felt his chest tighten; The kid had clearly been crying. Though it took a great deal of effort, Parrish stood, leaning back against the pillar, looking anywhere that wasn't Ronan. "My dad's been visiting my mom. She's had me crossed off the visitors list. I'm not allowed to see her again."

 

Gingerly, as if he were handling a wild animal instead of a damaged boy, Ronan reached out to touch Parrish's shoulder.

 

Though he stiffened for a moment, Parrish soon relaxed under the touch, tilting his head to touch his cheek to the back of Ronan's hand, heaving a soft, shaky sigh, stormy eyes squeezed shut.

 

Even from twenty or so feet away, still tucked into the driver's seat of their shared patrol car, Ronan could see Gansey's eyes go wide. He was connecting the dots. _Shit_.

 

Eyes still closed, breath hot on Ronan's skin, Parrish said, very softly, "I dunno what to do."

 

Neither did Ronan, though he didn't say so. Instead, he leaned in to press his cheek to dusty hair, his free hand clasping loosely around Parrish's bicep. The kid was too skinny. Ronan made a mental note to take him to lunch sometime.

 

Parrish's hands, calloused and sun-gold, scarred from years of mechanical work, came to Ronan's waist then, fisting into the fabric of his uniform shirt, another shaky sound escaping his lips. His ears were pink, his shoulders trembling.

 

"It'll be okay." Ronan was surprised at himself, at the sound of his voice.

 

Sighing again, heavier this time, Parrish pulled back, meeting Ronan's eyes, searching.

 

Softly, Ronan asked, "Parrish...?"

 

" _Adam_." There was something trusting in the kid's eyes, something wanting and lost, like a kitten looking for a home. God knew he needed to find comfort somewhere. " _My name is Adam_. _Parrish_ reminds me too much of my father."

 

Nodding, Ronan tried the name out: " _Adam_." Biblical. It was sacred and fitting and beautiful.

 

Hands still fisted in Ronan's shirt, Parrish-- _Adam_ , Ronan told himself, **_Adam_** \-- leaned in. When his half-lidded eyes fell past Ronan's shoulder, though, he hissed, " _Shit_."

 

Surprised by the kid's strength, Ronan found himself grabbed by the collar of his uniform, man-handled to the other side of the pillar, the faux-stone pressed to his back, Adam's chest to his, pinning him in place. "What--"

 

" _Proko_." It sounded like a curse.

 

Turning to glance over his shoulder, Ronan was quickly pinned back again.

 

" _Don't_ ," Adam whispered, his voice harsh, all traces of the damaged boy he'd been an instant ago fading into memory. "Don't let him see you."

 

"What's he doing here?" Ronan asked.

 

"Buying painkillers from the patients." Adam was leaning just the slightest bit around the column, watching Prokopenko conduct his business with narrowed eyes. He had one hand pressed to the center of Ronan's chest, and Ronan was acutely aware of the pounding of his heart. He wondered for a moment if Parrish could feel it against his palm. "He sells 'em to the junkies 'round here for triple."

 

Though Ronan was hesitant to admit it, he said, "Smart."

 

Sounding caustic, Parrish breathed back, "Yeah."

 

Keeping as quiet as he could manage, Ronan grabbed the walkie-talkie from the holster at his belt, saying, "Gansey, get over here."

 

"You gon' arrest him?" Adam didn't sound like he cared either way, though his eyes were anxiously darting back and forth from Ronan to Prokopenko and back again.

 

Clicking his tongue, Ronan admitted, "Not yet." Then he snagged Adam's eyes. "I'm gonna make it look like Gansey's arresting you, all right?"

 

This, Adam seemed to care about, taking a step backward, betrayal in his eyes. The hand at Ronan's chest, Ronan noted, did not pull away.

 

"You aren't actually in trouble, I swear."

 

"Why should I believe you?" Ronan would never get over how _good_ ferocity looked on this boy, he was sure. "You lied to my face _and K's_ the other day. Saying you didn't want..." He trailed off, looking angry and stung.

 

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Ronan confessed, "I only ever lie to myself." It was mostly true. Mustering as much sincerity as he could, holding Adam's eyes, he added, meaning every word, "I would never lie to you."

 

Adam gave no verbal response to that, searching Ronan's eyes again, holding his hands out willingly when Gansey approached, cuffs in hand.

 

Ronan already missed the hand at his chest, and he touched the spot himself. It wasn't the same. "When you're done settling him in," he eventually said to Gansey, pulling off his uniform shirt, reducing down to his undershirt, "do the same to me. Proko's here. We can't let him see me like this."

 

"Understood," Gansey said with a nod, gently ushering Parrish into the back seat of the patrol car.

 

Sliding one corner of his uniform shirt beneath his belt, Ronan hid his gun beneath it. From so far away, he doubted Prokopenko could even recognize him, though it was better to be safe than sorry. When Gansey returned to mock-arrest him, he even put up a fight.

 

"Knock it off!" There was amusement in Gansey's voice, though he did his best to hide his smile.

 

Ronan was soon sliding into the seat beside an exceptionally confused Adam, leaning his head forward to rest against the screen between the back seat and the front. To Gansey, Ronan said, laughter in his voice, "Just like old times, huh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very, very sorry for taking so long to update! I just started a new job, and after that plot hole, I've been reworking the plot, and there's Pynchweek happening on Tumblr, and Captive Prince week is coming up, too... Excuses, excuses. I apologize
> 
> I hope that this little bit of sexual tension is enough to make up for my recent absence
> 
> Oh, and the title is from I Fought The Law. There are many versions of this song, but I recommend The Clash's version. Theirs is the best


	13. Fragile

Watching Adam squirm in the backseat of the patrol car was far more amusing than it should have been, and it took all of Ronan's willpower to keep his little smirk hidden.

 

His knees spread, his back arched to keep his weight off his arms, Adam tossed a wary glance to Ronan, furrowing his brow and asking, " _What_?"

 

Softly, Ronan said, "Nothing."

 

That only seemed to puzzle Adam further, and he straightened, pressing his knees together in the cramped space, asking, "You spend a lotta time back here?"

 

"Nah." Ronan, for his part, remained slumped, pressing his knees into the back of the driver's seat. It was an old habit that had somehow survived the fact that he no longer lived in the backs of cop cars. He was nothing short of thoroughly impressed that Gansey hadn't told him to cut it out yet.  "I used to, but..." He shrugged as best he could with his hands still cuffed.

 

"So you being a thug isn't just an act?"

 

"More a memory than an act," Ronan allowed. "I'm just in the front seat of the cop car now, 'stead of the backseat. Makes all the difference, y'know."

 

For a long moment, Adam's eyes searched Ronan's face. Then, carefully, he said, "You really don't seem like a cop."

 

Shooting a quick glance up to Gansey, Ronan admitted, "I don't really _feel_ like a cop, either."

 

"It's just this case," Gansey replied, turning his head, but not taking his eyes off the road. "Once we wrap it up, things will go back to normal."

 

That seemed to bother Adam, and he asked, eyes narrowed, "Are you really...?"

 

Catching Adam's gaze in the rearview mirror, Gansey said, "You aren't actually under arrest. We just couldn't risk Prokopenko catching us at work. It could destroy everything."

 

One dusty brow lifted, Adam asked, "That's a bit dramatic, innit?"

 

As if it ought to be the most obvious thing in the world, Gansey said, "If Kavinsky and his gang finds him out, they could _kill him_." In the mirror, he met Ronan's eyes. "He's my partner. I can't risk that."

 

"He's _your_ _partner_?"

 

Nodding, Gansey said, "Among other things."

 

Furrowing his brow, Adam shifted his attention to Ronan, asking again, "He's your _partner_?"

 

Though Ronan snorted, looking equal parts ashamed and amused, Gansey was a little slower to understand.

 

"So that ring..." There was an accusation in Adam's voice.

 

" _Oh_!" Even from the backseat, with the screening between them, Ronan could make out the pretty flush tinting the tips of Gansey's ears, working its way down the back of his neck. "No, no! We're partners in the police sense, nothing more!"

 

Rolling his eyes despite his smirk, Ronan muttered, "And here I was thinking you loved me."

 

" _I do_!"

 

Ronan's smirk widened at that, and at his side, Adam snickered, clearly a bit relieved. It was strangely cute.

 

"You're the closest thing to a brother I'm ever likely to get," Gansey was saying, though neither Ronan nor Adam were really paying attention. Adam was wondering about Ronan's ever-present wedding band, and Ronan was wondering at the strange magic of having Adam's stormy eyes on him. "I'm not any competition to..." Gansey trailed off.

 

" _Adam_ ," Ronan said, and beside him, Adam gave a soft, shaky sigh in response.

 

"Adam," Gansey agreed. It had far less effect coming from him. Clearing his throat as they hit the highway, Gansey said, "I don't know if what you two have going is serious--"

 

There was a very clear warning in Ronan's voice when he hissed, " _Gansey_."

 

"But, _Adam_ , I'd very much like it if you didn't hurt--"

 

Again, " _Gansey_."

 

"He's more fragile than he looks, you see, and after Noah--"

 

" _Gansey_!"

 

Looking a bit annoyed, Gansey said, his voice going sharp, "I don't want to see you hurt again. If there's something I can do to stop it--"

 

Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, Ronan snapped, " _You could **shut up**_."

 

Though Gansey still looked irritated, he said nothing to that, and Ronan sank into the backseat, heaving a heavy sigh, tipping his head back against the worn leather, pressing his knees harder to the seat in front of him out of spite. Though Gansey shifted around a bit, he kept to his silence.

 

"Sorry 'bout him." Ronan kept his voice low enough that only Adam could hear it, catching stormy eyes with his own. "He doesn't know when to shut up."

 

"Gotta admit," Adam replied, "never woulda pegged you as _fragile_."

 

Ronan's scoff did little to mask his discomfort. For good measure, he added, " _I'm not_." He sounded like a spoiled child.

 

The smile Adam gave him for that was puzzled and hesitant and _dazzling_.

 

"Are you quite through canoodling?" Gansey sounded just the slightest bit amused, pulling the patrol car into the PD's parking lot, not far from where he'd left the Camaro earlier that night. The BMW, too, sat nearby.

 

Smiling a bit, holding Adam's gaze as he spoke, Ronan admitted, "Prob'ly not."

 

Though Adam said nothing, his tiny smile spoke a thousand words.

 

"We should probably get inside." Gansey didn't wait for an answer, climbing out of the driver's seat and pulling the back door open, gingerly helping Adam out and onto his feet. Ronan was used to being in the backseats of cop cars, however, and needed no help extracting himself.

 

Staggering, with a hand at Ronan's cuffed wrists and a hand at Adam's cuffed wrists, Gansey shouldered the door open and led them into the station, into the cool and the light and the quiet, safe from public view.

 

Relinquishing his hold on Adam, Gansey grabbed at the metal around Ronan's wrists, working the tiny key in and turning until they clicked loose. Then, more carefully, he did the same for Adam, who seemed far less comfortable than Ronan did, gazing about with anxious eyes, shoulders hunched, brow furrowed, rubbing at his sore, reddened wrists.

 

Towards the back of the room, Calla, the night dispatcher, was pouring herself a cup of coffee. The glance she sent them was cool and curious, and instead of greeting her fellow officers, she simply said, " _Parrish_."

 

Adam gave her a nod and soft, "Calla."

 

"Haven't seen much of you lately."

 

Smiling apologetically, Adam said, "Been busy lately."

 

Calla eyed Gansey as he stepped closer to pour a coffee for himself, silently offering to do the same for Ronan and Adam. Both refused. Pursing her violet lips, Calla said to Adam, "Staying outta trouble, I hope."

 

Biting at his lip, Adam admitted, "Not exactly."

 

Humming a bit, Calla turned her dark, fierce eyes to Gansey, who was currently sipping from an old Aglionby mug. "He involved with the Kavinsky case?"

 

Glancing to Adam for a moment, then to Ronan, Gansey answered, "Yes, he is."

 

Calla set aside her coffee mug, turning her attention to Ronan. To him, she said, "Keep him outta trouble, Lynch." There was no questioning a woman like Calla, even for a man like Ronan. " _Understand_?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Nodding, Calla reclaimed her mug, tossing a last glance at Adam before she stepped through the door at the back of the room, disappearing into the dispatchers' area.

 

"You know her?" Ronan couldn't mask the surprise in his voice.

 

"She's an old friend."

 

Seemingly satisfied, Ronan reached out to touch Adam's elbow, leading him to the door on the far right side of the station's main space.

 

Coffee in hand, Gansey followed close behind as they marched their way up the stairs and onto the second floor of the station. Ronan was quick to lead them into Gansey's office, taking a seat at the edge of Gansey's desk while Gansey claimed the chair behind it and Adam took the chair in front of it.

 

Meeting Adam's eyes with his own, his weight on his right hand as he twisted to regard Adam, Ronan asked, "You're the informant, aren't you?"

 

"Ronan," Gansey said, setting his coffee mug down, "I don't--"

 

Ronan ignored him, though, saying again, " _Aren't you_?"

 

Shooting a distrusting look at Gansey, Adam licked his lips, asking, "Why would you think that?"

 

"You didn't tell K and the boys who I was when you found out." Adam's gaze darted away at the implication. "In fact, you wanted to _help me_. You know perfectly well they could kill us both for this, and _you wanted to helped me_ , Adam. No way it was just over that ticket."

 

"Maybe I just thought you were cute." It was very obviously a cover.

 

"And _Calla_. Calla doesn't even _talk_ to anyone, but she was _worried_ about you. You're involved with her; You're involved with the station somehow, aren't you?" Ronan didn't wait for an answer, acutely aware of the fact that Gansey was watching him with hawk-eyes, while Adam refused to look at him at all. "It's the only reason she talks to anyone."

 

Picking at one of the scabs on his knuckles, Adam said nothing.

 

Sternly, in his best imitation of one of Gansey's kingly commands, Ronan asked again, " _You are the informant, aren't you_?"

 

Adam's lack of an answer was answer enough.

 

"Why?" Ronan couldn't keep the tiny bit of betrayal out of his voice. "What's in it for you?"

 

Sending a nervous glance Gansey's way, Adam said, "A friend of mine suggested it: Work for the cops so they'd keep my father away from my mother."

 

"Didn't work," Ronan didn't hesitate to point out.

 

"I told Blue I was gonna," Adam said, determination coloring his voice, "so I'm--"

 

" _Blue_?"

 

Adam blanched a bit at the suddenness of Gansey's voice, shrinking into himself as if he were expecting to receive a blow.

 

Unperturbed, Gansey asked, " _Blue Sargent-Gansey_?"

 

Adam nodded.

 

"She's my wife." Something in Gansey softened when Adam nodded again. He was a quiet thing, jumpy and a bit timid, but there was such a fire in his eyes, lightning crashing behind stormy blue. Gansey was certain, in that second, that this boy was _worthy_. He wasn't _good_ , not exactly, but he was _worthy_ , at least, of Ronan's affections. Blue would have approved. _Noah_ would have approved, even. "Are you a friend of hers?"

 

Glancing at Ronan for reassurance, Adam nodded again, saying, "We've been friends since high school."

 

It made sense: At twenty, Blue was certainly in the same age group as Adam was. They were probably from the same graduating class.

 

"She's the Chief's step-daughter," Adam said. "That's how she talked him into taking me on."

 

"Does Kavinsky know about you?" Gansey asked, a strange, sudden urgency seeping into his voice. "Does he know about--"

 

" _Lynch_ ," Ronan cut in. "Just _Lynch_."

 

Shaking his head, ignoring Ronan's outburst, Adam said, "No, I don't think so. Proko's a bit suspicious, but..." He glanced to Ronan then.

 

"I think he more hates me outta _jealousy_ than suspicion," Ronan said.

 

"He _is_ the jealous type," Adam agreed. "He's got his eye on you, y'know. He wants you away from K."

 

Sneering, Ronan asked, "You think I care what he wants?"

 

"You want K so much you'd let Proko come after you?" There was open jealousy in Adam's voice, and though he would never admit it aloud, Ronan adored it.

 

"I want him," Ronan allowed, "but..." _I want you more_ , he didn't say. He hoped his eyes alone could speak the words for him.

 

"Enough to risk your life?" It wasn't just _jealousy_ , Ronan suddenly realized; It was _concern_. _Adam Parrish was **worried** about him_. He had to fight to hold back a rather inappropriate smile. "Proko coulda killed you the other night."

 

"I'm not that easy to kill."

 

To that, Adam said nothing, looking equal parts impressed and irritated, his eyes darting down to the long, deep scar that ran along the inside of Ronan's left forearm.

 

"So what do we do?" Gansey asked into the silence, his thumb pressed to his lower lip, eyes darting back and forth between Ronan and Adam. "If your reward for informing fell through..."

 

"I'm not gonna stop." The lightning behind Adam's eyes had blazed up into a firestorm, and he turned it on Gansey. "I said I was gonna inform on 'em, so I'm gonna inform on 'em."

 

"Then we go on as planned," Ronan said with a smirk and a shrug.

 

Gansey was less sure than the others were. "It's getting risky," he said, "if Prokopenko is out to get you booted from the group." He met Ronan's eyes, warm hazel on sharp blue. "I won't send you in there alone. There's got to be something I can do to help."

 

Another shrug, and Ronan said, "Just keep on standby."

 

"Will you actually bring your phone?" There was bitterness in Gansey's voice; Even Adam could hear it.

 

Catching Gansey's attention with a blazing look, Adam said, "I'll keep track of him." Then he met Ronan's eyes, sharp and stormy and challenging. Ronan repressed a shiver as best he could. "I've been running with K for two years now. _Niall_ is nothing I can't handle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone surprised that Adam is the informant? I remember one person mentioned in a comment that they thought it may have been him, but I really hope you guys didn't ALL guess it, at least! 
> 
> Again, I must apologize for how long the recent chapters are taking me. I'm still settling into my new job, and I had a stroke of inspiration, so I'm redoing the entire second half of the fic, and yeesh! Just gimme some time, and things'll return to normal, I promise


	14. Under the Influence

The next night, there was a strange look in Parrish's eyes as he leaned against the wall of the warehouse, watching as Ronan approached. One dusty brow was arched high, his stormy eyes curious, head titled slightly. He looked half a scholar. Gansey would have approved. " _Niall_ ," he said. His voice was nearly lost in the rumble of engines revving high, though none of K's boys, nor K himself, seemed to be present.

 

Wrinkling his nose, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, Ronan asked, "Y'know that's not my _actual_ name, don'cha?"

 

With a smile and a shrug, Adam said, "Yeah, doesn't really suit you." Pulling off the wall, he added, "And your nametag said _R. Lynch._ "

 

"Yeah, it did."

 

When no further elaboration came, Adam asked, nearly interrogational, " _What is it_?"

 

"Wouldn't you like to know." There wasn't a tease in his voice, Ronan told himself. Lying to himself was all right.

 

Though Adam's arms were crossed protectively over his chest, he stepped closer just the same, a mere inch of space between him and Ronan. Softly, he said, "I _would_ , yeah."

 

The silence persisted for a few seconds longer before an answer came: "Ronan." It felt _monumental_ , giving the kid his real name. Ronan prayed it wasn't a mistake, though the shy, tiny smile Adam cast up at him made it hard to believe that it could be. "My name's Ronan."

 

" _Ronan_."

 

It sounded better on Adam's tongue than it ever had on his own, and Ronan repressed a shiver.

 

With a playful little smile, Adam pointed out, "I thought you didn't lie."

 

Fighting the urge to bristle, Ronan shot back, "Niall is my _middle name_ , actually, so it's not _technically_ a lie."

 

" _Ronan Niall Lynch_?"

 

A shrug, and Ronan agreed, "That's it."

 

Nodding to himself, almost absently, Adam murmured, "It's pretty." Then their eyes met, and with a little half-smirk, he added, "Shame I can't call you that." There was a longing in his tone, clear as a bell, and that honey-sweet accent of his was practically _dripping_.

 

"You could," Ronan said, stepping closer before he could think better of it, closing the space between them, pleased when Adam's crossed arms fell to his sides, calloused fingertips brushing the belt loops of Ronan's jeans, "when we're alone."

 

"You plan on being _alone_ with me?" The flush on Adam's cheeks was strangely fetching.

 

"If I can help it, yeah."

 

There was a beat of silence, then Adam gave a soft, flustered huff of laughter. Rolling his eyes and turning away, the blush still high on his cheeks, he pushed the rusted double-doors open, saying over his shoulder, "Go on."

 

Furrowing his brow a bit, Ronan asked, "You're not coming?"

 

"They're having a meeting," was all the defense Adam gave before he turned to grasp at Ronan's arm, pulling him forward and giving him a light shove into the space before the doors swung shut again, the loud _clang_ echoing of the warehouse's walls.

 

Ronan was more intrigued than disappointed, though he shook the thought off in favor of stepping further into the building.

 

The boys were all gathered around the sofa nearest the far wall, Skov and Swan seated on either side of Jiang, who sat with his laptop open over his crossed legs. Both Kavinsky and Prokopenko were leaned over the back of the couch, watching whatever was on the screen with troubled expressions.

 

Proko was the one who noticed Ronan's presence first, his colorless eyes narrowing when he hissed, vitriolic, " _Lynch_."

 

Then K glanced up, dark, hungry eyes masked by his sunglasses.

 

It was more of a relief than it should have been. Ronan didn't think he could deal with those hellfire eyes right then, not with the warmth of Adam's chest still glowing against his own, not with the softness of Adam's breath still lingering on his lips. He gave K a mock salute to distract himself.

 

Prokopenko flipped the bird at Ronan, only to be dragged closer to K's side, who gave a smirk and a salute of his own, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

 

Though Swan offered him a pretty smile and Skov nodded in greeting, Jiang didn't bother to look up from the computer screen, saying, "You may as well bring Parrish with you."

 

"What're you guys even doing?" Ronan asked over his shoulder as he turned to pull the door opening, catching Adam's eyes and jerking his chin toward the rest of the boys. Adam was quick to follow, though he looked rather puzzled just the same.

 

"We're having a meeting," Swan piped from Jiang's side. "Lock the door behind you, Parrish. Don't wanna be interrupted."

 

Doing as he was told, Adam entered, locking the door behind him and exchanging a nervous glance with Ronan before they both headed over to the sofa.

 

Ronan was quick to note that K had an arm draped around Proko's hips, keeping the other man pressed close to his side. That was a good thing, really. K and Proko belonged together. Swallowing down just the slightest bit of jealousy, willing Adam closer, Ronan asked, leaning against the back of the sofa, "What's going on?"

 

"Someone's been skimming our profits," Jiang said, efficient as ever. _Right to the point_ : Ronan appreciated that about him. "It's been going on for a week or so now. Currently, they've taken two-thousand five-hundred fifty-two dollars."

 

Doing his best not to sound impressed, Ronan asked, "You guys make that much in a week?"

 

"A lotta these arrogant pricks think they can outrace us," Proko said, looking just the slightest bit smug. K pulled him closer, looking proud, and he practically glowed under the attention. "I've made more than that on _a single race_."

 

"Tax free?" Ronan asked, a bit surprised at himself.

 

Giving a soft titter, Swan chirped, "'Course!"

 

"Plus, we bet with titles from time to time," Jiang added.

 

"Yeah, but you can't really steal an entire _car_ without someone noticing," Ronan said, though Jiang raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"Depends on how many you have," was all he had to say.

 

Tossing a quick glance at Kavinsky, Ronan asked, "How many _do_ you have?"

 

Jiang, too, looked to K, though the other man gave no real response. He was content to just listen, it seemed. " _I_ have six," Jiang eventually said. "The gang _itself_ has more."

 

"How many more?"

 

"Is this an interrogation?"

 

It took all Ronan had not to freeze up at that word. _Interrogation_. Jiang had always been suspicious, but to use that particular word...

 

Something sharp flashed behind Jiang's eyes, but he let the subject go. "I think it's prob'ly Parrish," he said, glancing over his shoulder to snag blue eyes with black, insolent. "He's the only one with money troubles."

 

"I get by with my cut just fine." Adam's irritation was obvious; His carefully hidden accent was slipping into his voice.

 

Kavinsky seemed amused by the exchange, smirking a bit and saying, his eyes on Adam's all the while, "He's too much of a coward for that, anyway."

 

Straightening, his eyes stormy and sharp, Adam hissed, " _Fuck you_."

 

A smirk, and K asked, ignoring the glares it garnered from Adam and Proko and Ronan, "'S that what you want?"

 

It was an underhanded jab at Ronan: _Consent is overrated_. Ronan stepped into the space between Kavinsky and Adam, saying softly, just coldly enough to get the point across, "Leave him alone, K."

 

Though Kavinsky's eyes roved for a second, first over Ronan, then over Adam, he said nothing.

 

Prokopenko watched Kavinsky for a moment longer before his colorless eyes went to Ronan, and he asked, "How do we know it's not _you_?" The challenge in his voice was obvious.

 

"We don't really know you," Jiang agreed, meeting Ronan's eyes.

 

K sounded entirely convinced when he said, "It's not him."

 

"K, just 'cause you're fucking him--"

 

" _Shut up, Proko_." It was an order.

 

Prokopenko was rather proud of himself for defying it, saying, "Him and Parrish got arrested last night, did y'know?"

 

Though Kavinsky lifted a brow at Proko's revelation, he didn't seem all that surprised. "What's your point?"

 

" _They're criminals_."

 

That actually earned a laugh from K, high and wild, and he scoffed, " _We're_ criminals." When Proko offered no defense, merely pouting for a moment, K's attention shifted over to Ronan, and he asked, "What happened?"

 

"We were fucking in the bushes by the hospital." Adam was the one to answer, and the look Ronan gave him for that answer was very nearly comical, his widened eyes taking up approximately half of his face. "I wanted to take the edge off, but I guess someone called us in."

 

Though Proko looked annoyed and Swan and Jiang looked amused and Kavinsky looked nothing short of _furious_ , Skov pointed out, "You wouldn't look at him the way you do if you were fucking already."

 

It was a fair point, but K seemed to have had enough of the conversation. "There's a big race coming up next week," he said, and again, Ronan thanked God that the sunglasses were on. Kavinsky's eyes would probably burn right through him otherwise. "Me and Skov and Jiang and a few others, down at the strip." He pointed his cigarette at Ronan's chest. Ronan was a little worried by his disappointment over the fact that the glowing tip of it wasn't pressed to his skin. " _You're gonna race_."

 

Ronan ignored the offer in favor of asking, "Proko isn't racing?"

 

Though Prokopenko said nothing, his glare, pale and fierce, all but shouted, _That's none of your business_.

 

Just the same, Swan said, laughter in his voice, "K's mad at him for hitting my Golf the other day, so he's not allowed to race for a while."

 

When Ronan snickered, it was Kavinsky's arm around Proko's hip that kept him from lunging. A whisper at Proko's ear had him shivering, and the slide of fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans had him all but melting into K's side.

 

Flushing a bit, Ronan changed the subject, keeping his eyes on Swan when he asked, "What about you?"

 

"I don't race," Swan said, shrugging and looking slightly apologetic. The shirt he wore was probably stolen from Skov; It had slipped off one of Swan's narrow shoulders to reveal a pretty tattoo of a black rose. "Makes me nervous, going that fast."

 

Ronan nodded, tossing a glance to the boy at his side and saying, "You oughta let Adam race."

 

"Oh, _Adam_?" Swan sounded close to swooning, pressing one hand to his chest like a woman scandalized. Skov's ice-green eyes rolled, though his smile was warm and soft. He'd long since grown used to Swan's antics. "You two're on a first-name basis now?"

 

Though his smile was bright and undeniable, Ronan said, "Shut up, Swan."

 

Swan simply smiled back, something warm and pleased in his honey-colored eyes.

 

"It's a good idea, actually," Skov said in his radio-announcer voice, resting one arm along the back of the sofa, looking to Kavinsky for approval.

 

"He could use the Maserati," Jiang added.

 

"He's a good driver, K," Proko reluctantly agreed, catching Kavinsky's eyes. He was still held tight to K's side, nuzzling the underside of his jaw as he spoke, though it required him to stoop a bit. "The regulars know it. If we can get him to throw the race, we might even be able to make up for the skimming."

 

Looking more irritated than anything else, Adam snapped, "I'm not gonna throw the race."

 

Casting an uncaring glance at Adam, Kavinsky said, his voice stony, "You're gonna do as you're told."

 

" _I'm not gonna through the race_." There was the accent again.

 

Ronan was immensely grateful that he still stood between Adam and K, and he reached back to touch Adam's wrist, golden skin and delicate bone feeling oddly frail beneath his fingers.

 

Giving the boy an especially rude once-over, K pointed out, "It's not like you to refuse orders." He met Ronan's eyes through his shades, one brow lifted over the rims, a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "Is Lynch a bad influence?"

 

With a little smirk of his own, firmly keeping himself in the middle, Ronan agreed, "The worst."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chemistry, man. Chemistry. I hated it in high school, but damn, it's nice now, eh?
> 
> Also, I dunno if Swan's shoulder tattoo will be explained within the fic, so I'll mention it here: I've always headcanoned Mama Swan as a former stripper who is incredibly clever with her money, and through a successful career and a succession of rich boyfriends, she's managed to make herself a small fortune. Her stripper name was Black Rose. Thus the tattoo :) Swan's a bit of a mama's boy, in case you couldn't tell


	15. Old Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that Ro's attraction to Gansey fizzled out long ago. Also, it's canon. Recall, if you will, the glitter scene in the Dollar City. One-sided ronsey is canon and real.

"I told the kid my name."

 

Booting up his laptop, Gansey asked, looking just the slightest bit puzzled, "Do you mean Parrish?"

 

"Yeah." Slipping two fingers beneath the leather bands about his wrist, Ronan said again, softer this time, "I told him my name."

 

"Doesn't he already know your name?"

 

Ronan hesitated before he murmured, "I mean my _real_ name."

 

" _Oh, Ronan_." Gansey sounded _profoundly_ irritated. Ronan was one of the few who was actually allowed to see him in such a state. It was oddly flattering. "Why in the world would you..." He trailed off, sighing and pinching at the bridge of his nose, the computer chirping a greeting that he ignored. "I understand that he's an informant, but there's a thing called _caution_ that you should really look into."

 

" _Caution,"_ Ronan shot back, "is just a fancy word for _cowardice_."

 

A soft huff of laughter, and Gansey pointed out, " _Cowardice_ is the fancier of those words, isn't it?"

 

"Prob'ly, yeah," Ronan agreed with a little smirk of his own. The truth was out there, and no fight had come of it. _Disaster averted_.

 

Pulling up a report template on the laptop and sliding on his reading glasses, shifting from his true voice to his all-business _Detective_ voice, Gansey asked, "Other than this _name_ infraction, do you have anything to report?"

 

 _Spoke too soon_. Fighting back a glare, Ronan all but demanded, "You're gonna put it on the report?"

 

"It seems rather important, doesn't it?"

 

"Adam is _an informant_ , Gansey." The words came on an irritable hiss. "He's _risking his life_ to get information to us; The least we can do it tell him the truth."

 

"As much as I appreciate your honesty," Gansey said with a roll of his eyes, "it's very frustrating."

 

"Y'oughta be used to it by now."

 

Searching Ronan's face for a moment, Gansey sighed, admitting, "I suppose it was necessary for building trust. Parrish is the skittish type, isn't he?"

 

"Not as much as you'd think."

 

Gansey's responding sigh was less than flattering, and he buried his face in his hands, muttering, "Please tell me you aren't...?"

 

"I'm not fucking him." How Ronan wished it wasn't true. Throwing on a false smile, he asked, "You really think I'm that much of a slut?"

 

"Well, Kavinsky _is_ an exceptionally bad influence..." Not waiting for a reply, Gansey asked again, "Do you have anything to report?"

 

Doing his best to hide a victorious smirk, Ronan said, "Jiang said someone's been skimming K's profits."

 

Glancing up again, Gansey asked, "How much does he even pull in?"

 

"Not exactly sure," Ronan admitted, "but Proko mentioned winning over two grand for a single race, and Jiang said they also race for titles. He wouldn't say exactly how many cars the gang owns, but it's gotta be quite a few."

 

Typing as he spoke, Gansey asked, "Quite a few as in _ten plus_ , or as in...?"

 

A shrug, and Ronan said, "Enough that they wouldn't notice one being stolen." Listening to Gansey take notes for a moment, he eventually added, "And Swan said they don't pay taxes on any of it."

 

"Well," Gansey said with a slight smile, not glancing up from the computer screen, "we could get them on tax evasion, if nothing else." When he caught sight of Ronan's suddenly downtrodden expression, he simply said, all humor fading from his voice, "Don't look at me that way."

 

" _What way_?" Ronan sounded like a petulant child.

 

Picking his words carefully, Gansey said, very softly, "Like this is some great betrayal."

 

To that, Ronan said nothing.

 

"Don't forget: This is our job." _No shit_ , Ronan didn't say. His silence was more venomous than his words. Gansey felt it, he was sure. "We're bringing them in or running them out. We have no choice."

 

"There's always a choice."

 

Gansey seemed troubled by that, asking, "Care to elaborate?"

 

"They're..." Ronan trailed off, avoiding Gansey's eyes. "They're not as bad as you think they are, Gansey."

 

"Aren't they?" It was hardly a question at all. "Ronan, the first time we met them, they _killed a man **in cold blood**_."

 

"I know that."

 

"And you're all right with that?" Again, it wasn't really a question.

 

For a long moment, Ronan was silent. Then, sighing, he said, "There's a big race next Friday night. K and Skov and Jiang and a few others from outside the gang, down at the track. K wants me to race."

 

Gansey's fingers faltered over the keyboard, his voice just the slightest bit shaky when he asked, "You're going to race?" Though he tried to mask his concern, Ronan could easily see past the façade. The harsh florescent lights of the office highlighted the deep furrow between Gansey's brows, washing his golden skin out to a sallow pallor.

 

Kicking his boots up onto Gansey's desk from the opposite side, arms crossed over his chest as he slumped in his chair, Ronan replied, " _I'm gonna race_."

 

"Is that a good idea?"

 

"I raced Proko the other day, and I'm fine, aren't I?"

 

Gansey seemed less than convinced, lifting one brow over the tortoiseshell rims of his reading glasses. "What are trying to hide from me?"

 

"Nothing."

 

" _Ronan_."

 

Ronan couldn't refuse the command in Gansey's voice, and he shrugged and admitted, avoiding Gansey's eyes as best he could, "I've been practicing, is all."

 

"That's what you were doing at the racetrack the other day?" Gansey asked, glancing up from his computer screen again to catch Ronan's eyes with his own, wide and curious and just the slightest bit accusatory. " _Practicing_?"

 

"Yeah." Ronan did his best to ignore the guilt he felt over that admission.

 

It was too much, going so slow for so long. Ronan wasn't a slow-moving creature. He needed speed, he needed danger and adrenaline and the warm, steady drip of blood from his bruised knuckles.

 

He'd had the intention of making his way back to the streets a full week before Kavinsky's name ever left the Chief's lips.

 

Gansey unknowing, asking, "What if there's an accident?"

 

"What if there is?" Another shrug, and Ronan said, "Proko crashed into me the other day, and I'm fine." He smiled, a bit surprised at himself. "I'm _excited_ , actually." He met Gansey's eyes for a moment, blue on hazel. "I wanna do this, Gansey."

 

Clicking his laptop closed and crossing his arms over the edge of his desk, Gansey asked, "You're getting in over your head, aren't you?"

 

"I thought you trusted Adam to keep an eye on me." Avoidance was better than flat-out lying.

 

Gansey recognized avoidance when he saw it, though, pointing out, half an accusation, " _You like him_."

 

Again, Ronan was surprised with himself, replying, "A bit." He was downplaying it, yes, but he was technically being truthful.

 

Gansey sighed, thumbing at his lower lip, eyes averted when he said, "You have terrible taste in men."

 

"You know I--"

 

" _Liked me_?" There was nothing smug in Gansey's voice. Pity, that was all there was. It hurt more than it should have. "I know."

 

It was more than just _liking_ , though Ronan didn't say so. He'd been absolutely _weak in the knees_ over Gansey for _years_ , back when they'd been kids, despite knowing how utterly futile it was. Gansey was straight as a goddamn arrow. It was hugely disappointing.

 

It was Noah who'd helped Ronan get over his feelings for Gansey, though Noah's absence had brought a spark of that old longing back. He and Gansey were friends now, though, and their friendship meant too much to Ronan for him to act on those feelings.

 

His friendship _with Blue_ meant too much for Ronan to act on them.

 

Instead of speaking of that, Ronan pointed out, "Adam's a good kid." It was, Ronan was certain, entirely true. "He's just in a shitty situation."

 

" _A good kid_?" The disbelief in Gansey's voice was obvious. "He's running with _Joseph Kavinsky_ , Ronan. Can he still be _good_ with that going on?"

 

Ronan sighed then, saying, "Don't forget I'm running with him, too."

 

"Not by choice."

 

" _Neither is he_."

 

"But you would never work with him of your own accord, would you?"

 

To that, Ronan said nothing.

 

Concern clear in his eyes and on his face, Gansey asked, " _Would you_ , Ronan?"

 

The flush of color at the tops of Ronan's cheeks was answer enough.

 

"You're a little..." Gansey hesitated, glancing down to his laptop for a moment. How he longed to shield himself behind it. " _Weak in the knees_ ," he eventually said, "over Kavinsky, too, though, aren't you?"

 

Though Ronan fought to hold back an irritated groan, it slipped out just the same. _Of course_ Gansey knew. Gansey knew him better than anyone. It was annoying, and Ronan hissed, only half-sure, " _It's just sex_."

 

"Like I said," Gansey muttered, finally giving in to temptation and opening his computer again, " _terrible_."

 

"I'm not--"

 

"You just said it was _just sex_." Gansey seemed to be disgusted by the very thought of it. "You and Joseph Kavinsky are sleeping together, correct?"

 

" _Incorrect_ ," Ronan snarled. "We got each other off _one time_. It's not the same--"

 

"Isn't it?"

 

Doing his best to hold himself back, Ronan hissed, "If you don't knock it off--"

 

"You'll _what_?" That cool façade was infuriating, and Ronan willed himself to calm down despite the anger bubbling just beneath his skin. " _Hit me_?" Ronan bit his lip, tasting blood. His own was preferable to Gansey's, he told himself, though he wasn't quite sure he believed it. "You going thug on me, Lynch?"

 

Hands curling into fists, Ronan said, as evenly as he could manage, "I'm not--"

 

"Please," Gansey said, and Ronan paused, listening. That voice was the voice Ronan could never _not_ listen to. " _Please_ , don't become like him."

 

Furrowing his brow, Ronan asked, "Kavinsky?"

 

" _Your father."_

 

Rolling his eyes, Ronan hissed, "You say one negative word about my father--"

 

"You know how I felt about him, Ronan."

 

His eyes sharp, Ronan growled, " _A charming monster_ , weren't those your exact words?"

 

Though he looked a bit shame-faced at having his words thrown back at him, Gansey's defense was bulletproof: "Can you deny that they're the truth?"

 

Ronan couldn't, and so he simply kept silent.

 

Niall Lynch was, undeniably, _a charming monster_.

 

 _As was his son_.

 

"Kavinsky is a terrible influence on you, Ronan." _Terrible_ was an understatement, Ronan agreed, though he kept to his poisonous silence. He was especially careful not to point out that he'd always had a weakness for _terrible_ things. Gansey was already disappointed in him; He didn't want to make it worse. "If you'd give the case up to someone more--"

 

"D'you honestly think there's anyone else who could do this?" It came out sounding more defensive than Ronan meant it to. Even so, he didn't take it back. "You heard the Chief, man: _It's gotta be me_."

 

"And _you_ heard him when he said that you would be better off with Declan as your partner on this case." It was a sore spot, Gansey knew, but he pushed on just the same. "He's the only one who could--"

 

" _Fuck, no_."

 

Huffing a bit, Gansey said, "You _can't handle this_ , Ronan." It was the truth, Ronan knew, and it _hurt like Hell_. "You're slipping up, and--"

 

" _No_."

 

Pursing his lips, Gansey asked, "Not even _for one night_?"

 

" _Gansey_."

 

It was a warning, but Gansey didn't flinch away from it. He never did. Irritating as it was, Ronan admired that about him.

 

"Can I at least talk you out of that race?"

 

"Not a chance."

 

Looking troubled, Gansey asked, "Is it because of that boy?"

 

" _He has a name_."

 

Reeling a bit at the vitriol in Ronan's voice, Gansey amended, "Is it because of Parrish?"

 

"No," Ronan said. _It's about Noah_ , he didn't say.

 

Gansey wouldn't understand, Ronan was sure. Gansey had never lost anyone. True, Noah had been Gansey's loss, too, but it wasn't the same. Noah hadn't been all Gansey had the way he had been Ronan's.

 

 _If you aren't at the race_ , Ronan's subconscious shouted at him, though he dared not voice that concern to Gansey, _Adam will get hurt. That Daytona will swoop in, just like before._

_You'll lose him, just like you lost Noah._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever had so much trouble writing a chapter for this fic before :P I had to literally go back and rewrite the entire thing, and just... Ugh. I apologize if this is not a particularly satisfying chapter. Ronan's just being very broody and he keeps trying to info-dump instead of leaving neat little hints. Kid's an asshole, I swear...


	16. Of Dead Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talky chapter coming up, speaking of car accidents and the deaths they cause, so tread carefully. Also, I did some editing on the previous chapter. Doesn't really change anything plot-wise, but it reads a bit better, in my opinion

" _Where is everyone_?"

 

Gansey's voice echoes from Ronan's cellphone, set upon the dash of the Lamborghini, staticky and loud as anything.

 

Ronan had been wondering the same thing: _Where the Hell was everyone_?

 

It was only half-an-hour or so after eleven o'clock, just a short while after their usual arrival time, when it was usually teeming with candy-colored cars and their wild, reckless drivers.

 

For the entire industrial district to be so quiet at this time of night...

 

Ronan swallowed down a bit of dread and admitted, "I dunno."

 

"Don't you have Kavinsky's number?" Gansey asked. He sounded bothered by the very thought. "Try calling him. I don't think he'd skip town without telling you."

 

 _Prob'ly not_ , Ronan didn't say. It'd just make Gansey edgier. "I'll call you back, yeah? Circle the block 'til then."

 

"Please be quick."

 

Nodding, though he knew Gansey couldn't see it, Ronan hung up. Pulling off to the side of the road, just in front of the warehouse, he dug through his contacts for Kavinsky's number. He found it listed simply as _K_ , and the succession of three sixes in the number seemed appropriate.

 

 _One ring_.

 

Ronan sighed, dismay welling up in his chest, weighing him down like lead.

 

_Two rings._

 

Bring his wrist to his mouth, Ronan gnawed idly on his wristbands. They still smelled of brick dust and motor oil and gasoline. He put the thought of Adam out of his head.

 

 _Three rings_.

 

Choking back a shaky sigh, Ronan leaned father into his seat, head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling of the car.

 

 _Four rings_ , then came Kavinsky's voice, saying only, " _Speak_."

 

"K, I just--" _Fuck_. It was a recording. Ending the call, Ronan pulled up Gansey's number again, and Gansey answered on the first ring. "Nothing," was all Ronan said. It was enough.

 

"I'm around the side of the building," Gansey said, his voice nearly lost to the cantankerous growl of the Lumina's engine. "Their cars are here."

 

"Which ones?"

 

"The Mitsubishi, Parrish's truck..." Gansey trailed off, probably studying the other cars. He wasn't a car guy. They all looked the same to him, save the Camaro. "There's a blue one, a red one, and a silver one. Red, white and blue. Very patriotic."

 

Rolling his eyes, Ronan said, "And Swan's Golf is still in the shop. They're prob'ly all here." Pulling the key from the Lamborghini's ignition, he added, "I want you to go park in that garage. I'll text you once I know what's up."

 

"Be careful."

 

"Yeah." And he hung up. Pocketing the phone as he climbed out of the car, Ronan was surprised to find the warehouse door unlocked, and he quietly slipped inside.

 

There was, oddly, nothing serious going on.

 

Instead, there was merely the boys sprawled around on the various sofas, their voices low and soft as they chatted amongst themselves. Skov and Swan were on the nearest couch, Swan curled tight against Skov's side. Off to the side, Jiang had claimed his usual chair, his laptop open and playing the theme from whatever game he was playing. On the farthest sofa, Kavinsky was fast asleep, his head pillowed in Prokopenko's lap.

 

Skov was the one to take notice of Ronan's presence first, tossing an acknowledging nod over his shoulder.

 

It was Swan, though, who stood, coming to Ronan's side, touching his shoulder and softly saying, "Just keep quiet, okay?"

 

Watching Proko gently card his fingers through K's hair, Ronan asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "What's even going on?"

 

"K doesn't sleep," Proko said, his voice at a regular volume, Kavinsky not even stirring at it. There was a familiarity to them that made Ronan's chest ache. "He's usually too strung-up to sleep." Glancing up to meet Ronan's eyes, he added, "We're gonna leave him be." Then, Proko's attention turned to Jiang, and he said, half-scolding, "No harm in going a single night without profit."

 

Sounding dubious, one brow lifted high as he let Swan lead him to one of the couches, Ronan asked, "You sure he didn't just pass out?"

 

Skov and Jiang gave twin snorts at that, and Proko, clearly reluctant, bent to hide his own smile in K's hair.

 

It was odd, being so at ease with these men, and when Swan leaned closer, Ronan did nothing to pull away.

 

"Your boy's outside, y'know."

 

"He's not--"

 

" _Isn't he_?" There was amusement in Jiang's voice, his sharp, dark eyes on Ronan.

 

"You two got chemistry," Swan added with a warm, encouraging smile. "Don't throw it away."

 

Ronan blanched a bit at that phrase, though he relaxed when Adam stepped through the doors, softly asking, "He still out?"

 

"Mm-hmm." Skov was the one to answer, watching with a slight smile as Swan slid into his lap, making room on the sofa for Adam to join them. "Your boy's here, too."

 

"My...?" Hesitating for a second, Adam met Ronan's eyes, blue on blue, before he settled at Ronan's side, their thighs nearly touching. Softly, though not for fear of waking K, Adam said, "Hey."

 

Pale eyes darting back and forth between Ronan and Adam for a moment, eventually dropping to snag on a sparkling bit of gold, Proko asked, "You married, Lynch?"

 

The sudden alertness in the room made it clear that Proko hadn't been the only one wanting to ask. Even K, who was only just beginning to stir, his arms wrapped around Proko's waist, hands fisted in the back of the other's shirt, seemed to be at attention.

 

Clearing his throat, Ronan said, " _Engaged_. I was _engaged_. We never actually got married."

 

"She okay with you hanging out with us all the time?" Swan asked, leaning around Adam to catch Ronan's eyes.

 

"He," was all Ronan could bring himself to say.

 

"Okay, _he_ ," Swan agreed. "Where is he?"

 

Lifting one scarred hand to rub sleep dust from his eyes, K asked with a dozy smirk, "Does _he_ know we're fucking?"

 

" _We're not_." It was mostly true, anyway. Despite the warmth of Adam at his side, Ronan wished it wasn't true. "Even if we were, it wouldn't matter."

 

"Swingers?" Jiang asked, looking amused. "Y'oughta bring him around sometime. He'd fit right in."

 

"Can't."

 

"Can't," Skov asked, "or won't?"

 

" _I can't_."

 

Seeming to pick up on the tightness in Ronan's voice, Adam slid closer, placing a calloused hand upon the other's tattooed shoulder.

 

It was immensely comforting, that simple touch, and Ronan soon heard himself admitting, "He's dead, actually." The hand at his shoulder squeezed. "Has been for quite some time."

 

The looks Adam and Swan gave him spoke gallons of concern, and the others quickly looked away, varying degrees of pity on their faces, save ever-blunt Kavinsky, who asked, his head still in Proko's lap, "How'd it happen?"

 

"Racing accident."

 

Looking rather impressed, K raised one brow and asked, "And it didn't stop you from racing?"

 

"It did for a while," Ronan admitted. Glancing down, he twisted at his wedding band, glittering gold against the pink-scarred skin around his knuckles. "I can't stop."

 

"But..." Biting at his lip for a moment, Swan eventually asked, "Don't you think he would have wanted you to stop, though?"

 

"Not a chance in Hell." Ronan was surprised by the smile he felt overtaking his face, the laughter in his voice. It had been years since he'd spoken of Noah without it hurting. "He loved racing. Kid had more speeding tickets than I did."

 

Scoffing, Skov said, "You prob'ly have a shit-ton of 'em, yeah?"

 

"Yep." Turning his wrist over, Ronan ran his index finger along the long, ugly scar running up the inside of his forearm. He could feel Adam's eyes tracing the movement, and he did his best to downplay it, saying, "Good thing his family was rich, or he'd've gotten his license revoked ages ago."

 

Sidling closer, his hand slipping to Ronan's bicep, their thighs pressed together, knees touching, Adam asked, "What was he like?"

 

"Noah?" It was odd, speaking that name here. "He was..." _Perfect_ was too strong a word. "Sweet. He was just some sweet, carefree, happy kid."

 

The sympathy in Adam's eyes was overwhelming.

 

"Nothing could bring him down, _not even **me**_ , and that's saying something."

 

Oddly enough, Skov was the one to ask, "You still in love with him?"

 

Ronan's gaze dropped again, twisting his wedding band, the weight of it heavier than the weight of Adam at his side. Meeting Adam's eyes for a moment, half a confession, Ronan replied with a question of his own: "Would I still wear the ring if I wasn't?"

 

Adam looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys needed to bond, and K needed to sleep, and Ro needed to get some of the Noah stuff off his chest. It's been really building up on him.
> 
> To be honest, I'm quite fond of this chapter, even though it is kinda-sorta filler.


	17. A Morning Report

The sun was hot on Ronan and Gansey's heels when they pulled into the parking lot at the police station, streetlights flicking off and shop lights flicking on all around them. Henrietta was waking up as their shift was winding down.

 

As they stepped into the air-conditioned cool of the station, Declan tossed a glance at them over his shoulder, a steaming Starbucks cup in one hand, his cellphone in the other. Saying a quick goodbye, he ended his call, sliding the phone into the pocket of his uniform trousers. "You're just getting back?" He sounded vaguely disgusted, though there was concern in his eyes, plain as anything. Ronan, naturally, ignored him.

 

"Busy night," was Gansey's response, paired with an apologetic smile as he and Ronan headed for the stairwell at the back of the station's main space.

 

The shuffle of papers and the murmuring of officers couldn't be heard there, muted by their footsteps, two pairs of boots on cheap linoleum, though Gansey looked near-desperate to speak.

 

Once they reached the office, the door clicking shut behind them, Ronan was quick to claim the seat in front of Gansey's desk, kicking his boots up onto the wood, ignoring the dirty look it earned him.

 

Settling into his own chair, Gansey said, "You never texted me back."

 

He sounded half betrayed, and Ronan did his best to fight back a smile, though he ultimately failed, simply saying, "I got distracted."

 

Furrowing his brow, Gansey asked, "By what?"

 

In lieu of a proper answer, Ronan said, "You're gonna wrinkle early if you keep making that face."

 

" _Ronan_."

 

Though his eyes rolled, Ronan answered just the same. "The boys asked about the ring." Ronan twisted it as he spoke, watching it glimmer beneath the harsh overhead lights of Gansey's office. He glanced up across the desk to catch Gansey's eyes, smiling. "I haven't talked about him without it hurting since the accident, and it just..." He shrugged. "It came pouring out, I guess."

 

Looking conflicted, Gansey sighed. "As glad as I am that you seem to be moving on," he said, clearly choosing his words carefully, "I don't think you're doing it for the right reason."

 

"Gansey--"

 

"Or the right _people_ , for that matter."

 

Surprising himself, Ronan said, "They're not as bad as you think."

 

"So you've said." Gansey was clearly less than pleased with it. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he asked, "What was going on when we arrived? Where was everyone?"

 

Another shrug, and Ronan simply said, "K was sleeping."

 

Gansey raised a brow, asking, "And they cancelled the races over that?"

 

"Proko said K doesn't sleep much. They get worried, I guess." Glancing down at his boots, expensive, but worn and thoroughly scuffed, Ronan said, "I think Adam was wrong 'bout 'em not liking him."

 

"Oh?" Gansey didn't sound particularly interested, though he was pretending otherwise. Ronan saw easily through the guise.

 

"There's something there." _Something_ was an understatement. "I don't know if they're all together, but I feel like they actually..." Ronan trailed off, searching for the right words. Eventually, he settled for, "They're _connected_."

 

That brow lifting again, Gansey pointed out, "You sound jealous."

 

"I am, a little."

 

Gansey looked nothing less than immensely concerned.

 

"There's five of 'em, not including Parrish and me, and it's like they're family. They all flirt back and forth, but they're all there for each other. Even Jiang's in on it. I've never been bonded like that."

 

Looking even more troubled, his voice going cold, Gansey asked, "Not even with Noah?"

 

It was a bit of a low blow, but Ronan ignored it, saying, "It's not the same." Truly, it wasn't. He'd never come across anyone with a group dynamic that came anywhere near the closeness of Kavinsky's boys. "With them, it's affection and sex and possession, and I just..." Ronan sighed, turning his eyes to the ceiling, unseeing. "I really want it. I wanna be _a part of it_."

 

Giving a sigh of his own, Gansey said, "It's not safe, Ronan."

 

Meeting hazel eyes with his own, Ronan shot back, "Life isn't safe."

 

Those pretty eyes rolling, Gansey stood, batting Ronan's feet off his desk as he did. "I think it would be easier," he said, "if we just report directly to the Chief. I don't think a full-scale report is in order."

 

"Nah, prob'ly not."

 

Looking distinctly impatient, Gansey said, "Come along, then."

 

Though Ronan groaned as he stood, he followed Gansey just the same, down the stairs and through the station's belly to the Chief's little office. Gansey was the one to knock on the door.

 

There was a second of shuffling papers before the Chief called, "Come on in."

 

And so they did.

 

"You only just got here." The Chief's eyes, silvery and sharp, darted from Gansey to Ronan and back again before he asked, "You've already finished your report?"

 

"There's not really any need for a report," Gansey said.

 

"Oh?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"I just heard from Lynch that your night was rather busy."

 

Gansey's shameful flush was a precious thing, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet the Chief's smug stare.

 

"There was no business last night," Ronan said, stepping forward, and Gansey shot him a look that spoke of nothing less than immense gratitude. "No races, no illegal activity. Nothing worth mentioning, really."

 

Raising a pale brow, Chief Gray asked, "Then what were you doing out so late with them?"

 

"We were just talking." It was entirely true.

 

"What about?"

 

To that, Ronan said nothing.

 

Pursing his lips, the Chief murmured, "Personal matters, I suppose."

 

"More or less."

 

For a moment, the Chief's eyes flitted to Gansey. Then, gingerly, he said, "These men are your type, are they not? Be careful."

 

Hands tightening into fists at his side, Ronan replied with a flat-out lie: "I'm always careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a very, very short chapter. Sorry, guys. I just wanted to show that I'm still working on this fic. My BigBang project is taking up all my writing time, though :P If you'd like, you can read a preview of it [here](http://pr0ko.tumblr.com/post/152771804559/as-dreamers-do-preview).
> 
> Also, Ronan's finally starting to come to terms with what he wants, and I really hope that that's enough to make up for the length of this chapter -.- Also, Mr. Gray is an absolute babe. I love him so much.


	18. Monsters and Men

"Shouldn't you still be in church?" Though Aurora was rather surprised, she didn't sound at all displeased when she opened the door to her middle son.

 

"I was sleeping," was all the argument Ronan could give, slipping past his mother and into the cool quiet of the Barns.

 

As she closed the door behind them, Aurora repeated, incredulous, "You _slept through Mass_?"

 

"I let Mattie know what was going on," Ronan said as he knelt in the foyer to unlace his boots. "I was out late on assignment last night, and I slept through my alarm." He shrugged, the movement sloppy and worn-out. "It happens."

 

Leaning back against the door, Aurora asked, "How late?"

 

"Not really sure." Fumbling with his frayed laces, his fingers slow and sleepy, Ronan added, "The sun was up before Gansey and me even filed our report."

 

Carefully, Aurora said, "You know, humans aren't meant to be nocturnal."

 

A snort, and Ronan stood, toeing off his boots and agreeing, "Why d'you think I slept through the alarm?"

 

Giving a hesitant little smile, Aurora murmured, "As long as you told your brothers."

 

"I let Matthew know."

 

Looking just the slightest bit disappointed, Aurora sighed, "I really do wish you and Declan got along better." When Ronan showed no desire to reply, she placed a hand at the small of his back, guiding him farther into the house. "We were going to have lunch in an hour or so, but I can go ahead and make it now, if you like."

 

"Nah, don't bother." Flopping down on the living room sofa, Ronan kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. "I ate on the way out."

 

Swatting Ronan's feet off the table, Aurora asked, "But you _will_ stay for lunch?"

 

"'Course." When Aurora settled beside him on the couch, Ronan turned his attention to where Opal was lying on the floor, stretched out on her stomach, and when she caught his stare, she smiled. Naturally, he returned it, saying, "Hey, kid." Then he glanced at the worn paperback in her hands, asking, "Whatcha reading?"

 

Dog-earing the page she was on, Opal closed the book and turned the cover toward Ronan.

 

" _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ ," he read aloud, smiling first at Opal, then at Aurora. "Shoulda figured."

 

"She's read it half a dozen times," Aurora said with a smile of her own, and Opal nodded emphatically, flipping through the pages to show Ronan a picture of the Jabberwock.

 

Absently, Ronan murmured, "He scared the shit outta me when I was little."

 

Opal's responding smile was nothing short of radiant, and Aurora added, "He's her favorite."

 

" _'Twas brillig_ ," Ronan said, taking on an unconscious imitation of his father's accent that had Aurora's lower lip trembling, " _and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe_."

 

Opal's smile could have easily outshone the sun, and Aurora softly said, "I'm surprised you remember it after so long."

 

"That's all I remember, actually." Ronan did nothing to hide the shame in his voice.

 

If Aurora noticed it, she said nothing of it. "I think you made Opal's day just the same."

 

Another nod, and Opal stood, darting across the room to her little plastic desk in the corner, rifling through a few papers before she returned, pressing a surprisingly legible drawing of the monster into Ronan's hands. "Jesus." His smile mirrored hers, warm and soft and a little shy. "This is really good."

 

Folding Ronan's hands over the picture and giving him a last smile, Opal returned to the floor, turning her attention back to her book. It was thoroughly worn, the pages dog-eared and stained, the binding cracked in some places. It was thoroughly _loved._

 

Taking the pause in conversation as her cue to speak, Aurora pointed out, "I've not seen you dressed like this is ages."

 

Placing Opal's drawing on the coffee table for safekeeping until he left, Ronan glanced down at himself, at his black wifebeater and his dark, shredded jeans.

 

"You look like yourself again."

 

Dryly, he said, "Surprised you like it."

 

Furrowing her brow and cocking her head, Aurora asked, "Why's that?"

 

"You don't want me to be more like Declan?" The bitterness in Ronan's voice was thick. "All suits and ties and whatnot?"

 

"I love you the way you are, Ronan." It was a motherly copout, Ronan knew, but try as he might, he couldn't fight off his smile. "I do sometimes wish you were less like Niall, but..." She shrugged. "You are your father's son."

 

Ronan's smile faded a bit at the thought of his father, and he grabbed for the chain at his neck, pulling Niall's old cross from beneath his shirt.

 

"You still wear it?"

 

"'Course I do."

 

Reaching out to touch her son's hand, Aurora said, "You look troubled, love."

 

"I am, a little." Ronan twisted his hand to tangle his fingers with hers. "Been thinking a lot about Noah lately."

 

"You're always thinking about Noah."

 

Ronan didn't bother denying it. "I know," he agreed, "but..." He trailed off, meeting Aurora's eyes with his own, and that alone was enough to clue her in.

 

"There's someone new." She nodded to herself, the tiniest ghost of a smile playing at the edges of her lips. "Who is he?"

 

Hesitating a bit, tossing a quick glance down at Opal, who didn't seem to be paying attention to them in the slightest, Ronan admitted, "There are two, actually."

 

Lifting both brows in surprise, though she didn't look truly bothered, Aurora said, "Oh."

 

Biting at his lower lip, gently pressing his fingertips to Aurora's knuckles, Ronan added, "And they're both criminals."

 

Again, softer, more troubled, Aurora murmured, " _Oh_." It was half a sigh. "They're the men you're undercover with?"

 

Ronan nodded. "The one, though..." His gaze fell to where his fingers linked with his mother's, resting on his knee. "He's a good kid."

 

"Despite the fact that he's a criminal?" Aurora asked.

 

"He's not doing it by choice," Ronan said, struggling to keep the ferocity from his voice. "He's an informant, gathering info in exchange for us protecting his mom from his father." Aurora's lower lip trembled at the very suggestion. "He doesn't have a choice. He's a good kid, Mom, he's just... _Trapped_."

 

Though she looked thoroughly worried, Aurora gave a knowing smile at that.

 

"I wanna get him out. _I wanna help him_." Really, the words were more for Ronan himself than for his mother. Saying such things aloud felt taboo, almost. He couldn't say these things around Gansey without fear of judgement. "God knows he deserves it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait, guys! I was not a fan of the way the original version of this chapter turned out, so have this revised version.
> 
> The true next chapter will be up within the week!


	19. All Over Creation

It was not strange for Ronan to find Dick Gansey on his doorstep.

 

Finding Dick Gansey in full undercover dress, thumbing at his lower lip, was thoroughly strange, and Ronan raised a brow, gesturing him in and asked, "What's up?"

 

"I'm not quite sure," Gansey admitted, settling onto the leather sofa against the far wall of the apartment's cramped living room. The leather squeaked beneath him. "He wants to speak to us."

 

Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the door once he closed it, Ronan asked, "Who?"

 

Gansey's silence was answer enough.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ronan hissed, " _About what_?"

 

Markedly hesitant, Gansey said, "The assignment, I suppose."

 

"We already talked about the assignment." It was true. "He said to be careful, but he's not gonna take me off. I'm the only one who can do this." When Gansey fell silent again, Ronan demanded, "What did you say to him?"

 

In lieu of a proper answer, Gansey glanced toward the kitchen. On the fridge was Opal's Jabberwock drawing, and he smile. Then, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared, he said, "Aurora called me earlier this evening." He refused to look at Ronan when he said it, instead looking at his hands, where they lay clasped in his lap. "She's very worried about you."

 

"She's my mother." It sounded more derisive than Ronan had intended, though he didn't take it back. "Of course she's worried. She's always worried."

 

"She's worried you're getting in too deep," Gansey said, unnecessarily, finally bringing himself to look up, meeting Ronan's eyes with his own. "So is the Chief. _So am I_. You need to get off this case before you end up like--"

 

Ronan cut the speech off with a scoff. Pulling away from the door, he snarled, "Lock the door when you leave, asshole."

 

He was thoroughly, viciously pleased when Gansey made no move to follow him out of the apartment, or out of the building, or into the parking garage, or out into the night.

 

As he zipped along the street, the Aventador purring softly beneath him, Ronan resisted the urge to toss his head back and just let the car take him where it would.

 

Such reckless, he often told himself, was something he had long since grown out of.

 

He was no longer sure how true that was.

 

As he slid into the lot along the side of the crumbling old warehouse, Ronan let the tires squeal, hitting the brakes far too hard, nearly slamming into Swan's newly-painted Golf. When he climbed out of the car, he slammed the scissor door down with far too much force, shoving his way through the throng and into the warehouse, not even bothering with watching the night's race. He wasn't in the mood for racing.

 

Only two of the boys were present inside the warehouse.

 

In his customary chair sat Jiang, his laptop open on his crossed legs.

 

Behind him, arms resting on the back of the chair, watching over his shoulder, was Kavinsky.

 

It was Jiang who noticed Ronan first, lifting one well-groomed brow and asking, "What's got you looking so pissy, Lynch?"

 

Flopping down onto the nearest sofa, Ronan grumbled, "A friend of mine is being an asshole."

 

"Didn't know you had friends," Kavinsky said, and Ronan flung a glare his way.

 

"Fuck you."

 

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

 

Rolling his eyes, a tiny smirk crossing his face, Ronan said again, " _Fuck you_."

 

Kavinsky was, of course, less than intimidated. Pushing away from the chair, though it did nothing to hide the darkening of his eyes, he moved to grab at Ronan's arm, saying simply, "C'mon."

 

A bit surprised at his own obedience, Ronan followed him outside, back around the side of the building, not even fighting when K grasped his hips, pinning him against the brick of the wall with calloused fingers and chapped lips.

 

Only when teeth grazed his neck did Ronan pull away, meeting dark eyes and asking, "Where's Parrish?"

 

Rolling his eyes and hiding his face against Ronan's neck, Kavinsky hissed, "What's it matter?"

 

Doing his best to fight of the heat bubbling up in his chest, Ronan said, "I wanna see him."

 

Pulling away to meet Ronan's eyes, though his hands stayed anchored at his hips, K said, "He's in the hospital again."

 

Suppressing a wave of panic, Ronan asked, " _Is he hurt_?"

 

"Nah." Kavinsky curled his lip as he said it, as if he was disappointed. "He's just there for his mother."

 

Furrowing his brow, though he was glad when K finally pulled away from him, settling on the Mitsubishi's hood, Ronan pointed out, "His mother doesn't wanna see him. She took him off the visitors list, didn't she?"

 

A shrug, and K lit up something Ronan wasn't entirely certain was an average cigarette. With it dangling from his lips, he said, "He's there anyway. They're doing some sorta reconstructive surgery on her."

 

" _Reconstructive_?" Ronan asked.

 

Kavinsky didn't seem to care in the slightest, shrugging again and saying, "That's what he said."

 

"He beat her up that bad?" The thought made Ronan's stomach lurch.

 

"Guess so."

 

The lack of concern in K's voice was thoroughly troubling, and Ronan stepped away, headed off toward the Lamborghini at the edge of the lot, lifting the door open.

 

Eyebrows drawing together, K asked, "Where you--"

 

"Shut up, K." Slamming the door down before Kavinsky could get another word in, Ronan grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jeans, scrolling through his contacts until he found Gansey's number. The call was picked up before the first ring rang through.

 

"Ronan?" Gansey sounded very nearly frantic.

 

"I'm leaving the warehouse." So he was, the Aventador humming under him as it darted through the streets of Henrietta. "I'm heading to the hospital."

 

It wasn't the best wording, Ronan realized when Gansey gasped, "Are you hurt?"  
  
  
"I'm fine." Switching lanes, Ronan added, "I'm gonna see Adam. His mother's in surgery, and I..." He trailed off.

 

Gansey seemed to understand just the same. Instead of picking at it, though, he asked, "I thought she didn't wanna see him?"

 

"She doesn't, but he's there anyway."

 

"That's..." Gansey, too, seemed to be at a loss for words.

 

"I told you, man," Ronan said, knowing it to be true, " _he's a good kid_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter :P Sorry the updates for this fic have become so rare. I far prefer writing [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8869339). It's more fun, and if you enjoy the dream pack, you really oughta check it out :) They're much more fleshed-out there!


	20. Sterile

The hospital's waiting room was immense and empty and far too quiet, and Ronan's voice echoed off the too-white walls when he said, "Hey."

 

When Adam glanced up to look at Ronan, his dark eyes were reddened and lined in sleep-shadows. In a weak, weary voice, he murmured, "Hey."

 

Settling in the plastic chair at Adam's side, sparing only a glance at the unoccupied nurse's station on the opposite end of the room, Ronan asked, "Everything all right?"

 

A shrug of narrow shoulders, and Adam said, "As can be, I guess."

 

"K said this was a reconstructive surgery," Ronan carefully said, twisting the bands around his wrist and not looking up. Hospitals made him nervous. "What are they..." He hesitated. " _Reconstructing_?"

 

"Her nose. It gets broken enough times, it stops looking like a nose at all."

 

That had Ronan biting at his lower lip, and he did his best not to note that fact that Adam's own nose was a little crooked. "Your father...?" Ronan trailed off.

 

Though Adam glanced up at him for a moment, he didn't reply.

 

Scolding himself and clicking his tongue, Ronan asked, "She gonna be okay?"

 

"Dunno." Adam didn't sound particularly enthusiastic. He was hunched forward on one of a multitude of plastic chairs, elbows on his spread knees, eyes downcast. "One of the nurses is a friend of mine, though, so even though I'm off the visitors list, I'll know if she's all right or not."

 

"Adam?" As if on cue, a nurse stepped into the room, a clipboard held to her chest, a tired half-smile on her face.

 

"Maura," Ronan said, and she lifted a brow.

 

"You two know each other?" She didn't sound at all displeased. Then she shook her head, turning her attention to Adam and saying, "They're nearly done. There's a bit more bleeding than we were expecting, but she'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about."

 

Adam didn't look very comforted.

 

Pressing her lips together for a moment, Maura glanced to Ronan, saying, "Stay with him, won't you? I think he needs the company."

 

There was only a second's hesitation before Ronan nodded, "Yeah, 'course."

 

Smiling slightly, half-hearted though it was, Maura said, "Everything's gonna be okay, Adam. She's in good hands."

 

"Thank you." Adam didn't seem to really believe it.

 

Sighing softly, Maura tossed a strangely desperate glance at Ronan before she left the waiting room again.

 

"She's definitely in good hands," Ronan said, "if Maura's with her."

 

"S'pose so."

 

Adam didn't seem to have anything more to say, and Ronan sighed and slumped down into his chair, eyes on the tiled ceiling, fingers still at his wrist. "I hate hospitals," he said to no one, though he was fairly certain Adam was listening just the same. "Last time I was in one was after Noah's accident."

 

"Tell me about him."

 

Pursing his lips and glancing down, Ronan asked, "What d'you wanna know?"

 

There was a troubling break in Adam's voice when he replied, "Anything to distract me."

 

"Fair enough." Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Ronan retrieved his phone, flipping through his photos before he came to one from ages and ages ago, Noah smiling, Opal smiling, _Ronan smiling_. The summer sun was high above them, sand warm beneath their feet, Noah and Opal's laughter echoing. Ronan did his best not to hear it, instead handing his phone to Adam. "That's us," he said, unnecessarily. "'Bout a month before the accident."

 

"You had hair?"

 

Adam sounded vaguely amused, and Ronan pulled a face, grumping, "It's not like I'm bald or anything."

 

A bit more cautiously, Adam added, " _And a kid_."

 

"Opal," Ronan said with a shrug, as if it could hide his guilt. He knew better. "She's technically Adele's kid: Noah's little sister. She was sixteen at the time, had no idea how to raise a kid, so Noah and me decided to adopt Opal, keep her in the family."

 

A little absently, Adam murmured, "She looks like him."

 

"Yeah, she does." _So much it hurt_ , Ronan didn't say. "She lives with my mother now. I couldn't bring her up on my own."

 

Meeting Ronan's eyes, Adam asked, "What happened to him? You said it was a car accident, right?"

 

"He was racing." _He was always racing_. He'd been the one to get Ronan into it. "A black Charger caught the side of his Mustang, pushed him into brick wall." Ronan touched his left arm, running his fingers over the scar there, a long, ugly, silvery thing with several smaller marks branching out from it. One of the smaller scars still had a cube of safety glass beneath it, an intentional leaving, and Ronan pressed a fingertip against it. "I tried to pull him out, but it was too late." The scars were proof of that. "He was killed on impact."

 

The bitterness in Ronan's voice was molasses-thick, and Adam shot him a pitying look.

 

"Guess it was for the best," Ronan said, surprising himself a bit. He'd never admitted to that out loud before. He lifted a hand to his face, tracing his cheek. "His cheekbone hit the steering wheel and shattered, and his face was...." Ronan shuddered. He could still see it behind his eyelids. "It was caved in."

 

His fair eyebrows drawing together, Adam murmured, "I'm sorry." It was clear that he meant it. "I shouldn't have--"

 

"It was four years ago," Ronan said with a shrug that did nothing to hide his pain. "I really oughta be over it by now."

 

Though Adam said nothing, he pressed his fingers to Ronan's knuckles in silent comfort.

 

Ronan was quick to thread their fingers together, more pleased than he had been in years when Adam did nothing to pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter :P Short's better than nothing, though, right? I'm slowly getting back into the groove of this story. Took me long enough, huh?

**Author's Note:**

> Ooh, first chapter! I am so super stoked to get to write this! There're so many things I wanna explain, but for the sake of plot, I suppose I need to leave most of them be. I can definitely explain a few things, though. 
> 
> Like how Mr. Gray is the chief. It seemed fitting for him. He needs to be in a position of authority. I really, really liked him. In this AU, Henry is a bit younger than the other boys, and he's Declan's partner-in-training. Carruthers is a cop, too, but I'm hoping he won't become important. I don't like him. 
> 
> Also, Henrietta is more a small city than a small town for this fic's purposes. It doesn't change much, I promise. Also Gladys Francine Mollin Wright is one of the buildings at Aglionby in the books, but it is a hospital here.
> 
> I know this chapter was a bit slow, but don't worry, it'll pick up. Much action to come! Stay tuned! 
> 
> Excited for more fics? Have constructive criticism or even just silly comments to add? Let me know! And as always, I must mention that I go by pr0ko on Tumblr, and I'm totally open to taking questions and comments and requests and prompts there! :) Hit me up!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The First Steps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502172) by [blazed_pipe_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazed_pipe_dream/pseuds/blazed_pipe_dream)




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